


So Long

by unn_known



Category: One Direction
Genre: Comfort, Drama, F/M, Updating tags as I go, personal assistant!OFC, snark and sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-01-02 00:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 59,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unn_known/pseuds/unn_known
Summary: Claire Hunter is twenty-four and without direction. Sharing a three-bedroom apartment with an old friend and three of his friends and searching fruitlessly for a job, Claire is this close to giving up. Her older brother decides to take matters into his own hands, applying for a job for her. To both of their surprise, she gets that job. No one warned her that spending so much time with someone would cause a connection, one that can’t be ignored. No one warned her that she’d fall in love somewhere along the line. She really should have known better than to fall for her boss, though, no matter how gorgeous and amazing Niall Horan is.





	1. one.

Claire steps through the door of the restaurant and looks around at the patrons dotted through the dining area. A few people glance her way but immediately turn back to their meals; she ignores them, searching for the group she's meant to be meeting with. A hostess steps up to the podium with a wide grin.

“Sorry about the wait, ma'am. Just you today?”

“Actually, I'm supposed to be meeting with some people. Uh, I think it's under Darlington?”

“Of course.” The hostess looks down at the seating chart in front of her before smiling at Claire. “If you'll follow me, please.”

Claire hitches her purse further onto her shoulder and trails after the bubbly woman. They've just passed a booth to the side when Claire comes to an abrupt stop, her heels skidding slightly at the sudden halt of motion. She deliberates for a split second - follow the hostess to the table and be on time for the interview, or stand her ground and maybe, just maybe, prevent it from happening to someone else. She pivots and bares her teeth in a cold facsimile of a smile. The man’s smirk falters under her weighted glare, and Claire backs up a step so that she falls even to him. She leans down, slides her arm along the back of the booth.

“Listen here, you little cumstain garbage baby, you don't have the right to slap my ass. I could waltz through this joint naked as the day I was born, and you _still_ wouldn't have the right to put your hands on me. So, I highly suggest you take my words to heart and remember this little message whenever you get the urge to put your greasy, frat-boy paws on another woman. Because if you do?” She turns her head to whisper directly in his ear, her voice low and menacing, “I will find out, and I will hunt your sorry ass down and make you wish your mother had aborted you.”

The group of guys at the table are all deathly silent as her lips quirk upwards, and she walks away, relishing the _click-clack_ of her heels against the tile under her feet. There’s something that makes her feel more powerful after she makes a point like that. The hostess gestures toward the empty seat at the table, and Claire thanks her and turns to the other three once they’re alone again. She shifts the strap of her purse, holds out her hand.

“Hi, thank you for being patient. I’m Claire Hunter.”

The woman stands to shake her hand, though the men remain seated. “Nice to meet you, Miss Hunter. I’m Abigail Darlington - we spoke on the phone. Please, have a seat.”

“Hello! I’m Peter, I’ll be your server this afternoon. Can I get you anything to drink, ma’am?”

Claire flashes him a smile. “Just a water is fine, thank you.”

Peter disappears, and she focuses on the trio. Miss Darlington is rifling through a folder full of papers, the young man to Claire’s left stares down at the plate in front of him, his beanie pulled low on his forehead; the man across the table from her has her pinned with his gaze, blue eyes narrowed as he scrutinises her. She forces a quick grin and resists the urge to squirm in her chair.

“Okay, Miss Hunter, do you mind if we go ahead and get started? Our schedules are full for the rest of the afternoon.”

“No, no problem. I’d like to consider myself accommodating.”

“Wonderful. So, first questions first, why do you think you’d be a good fit for this position?”

Claire inhales as steadily as possible; it’s now or never, and as much as she would like to lie, she knows she has to be upfront. “Well… if I’m honest, I didn’t. I, um, I didn’t even really apply, not myself. My brother did it for me.” At Miss Darlington’s shocked look, Claire rushes to explain. “He knew I was looking for a job and that I wasn’t having any luck, so when he saw the position was available, he decided it would be perfect and applied for me. He told me about it later that night, and I realised it _was_ a good idea. I mean, the job itself sounds like it’ll be interesting. I like organisation, routine, all that. I’ve worked as an assistant to a wedding planner before, so I know I’m rather efficient at keeping schedules and juggling priorities and handling confrontation in a manner that won’t escalate the situations. I enjoy interacting with people, which comes in handy when having to make calls or write emails, and I don’t mind doing menial tasks whenever needed.”

Miss Darlington nods slowly, writing something down on her notepad. “I can’t say I’m thrilled to learn that you didn’t even apply for yourself, but… Would you say is this a job that you would actually do your best in, regardless of that fact?”

“Oh, absolutely. I have no doubt about that.”

The interview continues, and Claire’s stomach clenches tightly when Peter sets plates in front of the two men. Food is the last thing on her mind right now; she twists her fingers around themselves under the table and waits for the next question. Thankfully, it doesn’t take much longer. Miss Darlington exchanges a look with the guy across the table, leans over to whisper something. Beanie-Head clears his throat, jerking his chin toward the door.

“Looks like your mates wanna say goodbye.”

She glances over to see the group of college guys standing by the booth, the one who’d smacked her ass hesitatingly coming closer. “They’re not my friends.”

“You were talking to them.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Frat-Boy coughs quietly, looks over his shoulder at his friends, then turns to face her. She raises a brow as her heart starts hammering in her chest. _Please don’t make a scene, please don’t repeat what I said, please do not fuck up this interview more than I already have_, she begs mentally, though she keeps her expression as neutral as possible. He sighs, scrubbing his hand across the back of his neck.

“I, uh, I just wanted to apologise for how I behaved. For, uh, grabbing your ass. You were right, it was completely unacceptable, and um, I promise I won’t do it to anyone else. So… please don’t hunt me down and kick my ass - I mean, butt. Uh, sorry again. Have a nice day.”

Her cheeks burn as he walks away, and she reluctantly faces the others. Miss Darlington is staring at Claire, brows drawn together and lips pressed into thin lines, but the guy who’d pointed out Frat-Boy’s approach is stifling laughter and failing miserably at it. The man across from her is chewing on his lower lip as his grin fights to break free. Claire shrugs and takes a sip of her water.

“Told ya, we aren’t friends,” she says flippantly with a shrug, and the guys’ laughter rings out in the otherwise quiet dining area.

Outside the restaurant, Claire leans against the wall, digging through her purse until her fingers bump into the edge of her phone; she watches as Miss Darlington ushers the two men into a waiting vehicle then unlocks her phone screen. Tim has sent seventeen texts in the last hour, and she's grateful that she put it on silent and turned off the vibrate function. She sends a quick picture of her flipping off the camera to her brother before opening the Uber app. She hadn't wanted to fight for parking, so she'd taken Tim’s coupon for fifteen percent off her first ride to get to the interview.

The next couple of days go by slowly. Between scouring job listing sites and dealing with her roommates being obnoxious as they always are, Claire feels like she's had no time to herself to decompress. So when Tim calls and asks if she wants to join him and his family at the beach, she jumps on the chance, quickly agreeing and rushing to change into her bikini. She's just pulled a tank-top over her head when someone knocks on the front door. None of the four guys she lives with move from their spots in the living room; she sighs but isn't really surprised. They rarely get the door unless they've ordered pizza. She calls out a goodbye over her shoulder as she steps into the hall and only receives grunts in response.

Claire settles into the backseat of Tim’s car as Deirdre, his wife, slides into the passenger seat. Minnie ignores her in favour of dragging her marker across the page of the colouring book in her lap, but Paul gives her a wide, crumb-filled grin. Their carseats press painfully into her sides; she ignores it as much as she can, though she wonders why she hadn’t told her brother she would meet them at the beach. It would certainly have been less of an agonising trip than this even with as much as she detests traffic. Tim reaches over to turn down the radio, and both kids protest loudly. Minnie falls silent first at the warning glance Deirdre sends her, and Paul follows suit - he’s begun to mimic his older sister, much to her consternation.

“So think you got the job?”

“I dunno. The woman said they’d talk it over and then she’d call me once they’ve made their minds up one way or the other.” Claire shrugs as best she can with two plastic seats pushing against her shoulders. “I don’t figure they’ll call until Monday or so.”

“But do you think you got it?”

She sighs, deciding to be honest. “I… uh, I might not. I kinda told her you’re the one who applied on my behalf and that I hadn’t known about the job listing until you’d already sent in the application.”

“What the Hell, Belle?” groans Tim as he glances at her in the rear-view mirror. “Why would you do that?”

“Honesty is the best policy?”

“Stop talking to Mom, it’s getting weird for her words to come from your mouth.”

“Tim, leave her alone,” Deirdre admonishes her husband before smiling back at Claire.

Thankfully, it isn’t much longer before the car comes to a stop, and Claire turns to unbuckle Paul. Minnie slaps at her hands when Claire tries to help her and unclips the buckles herself, and Deirdre grimaces and mouths an apology. Claire shrugs it off and ducks down to squeeze out of the car. Hot sunshine beats down mercilessly on her shoulders; kids laugh and screech, birds caw overhead, and the briny tinge to the air brings a smile to Claire’s face. She reaches down for her nephew’s hand, wondering how the Hell he managed to get so sticky, and guides him to the wooden stairs that lead to the sand. Once Tim has the canopy set up and the towels spread out, Deirdre squirts an enormous dollop of sunscreen into the palm of her hand before passing it over to Claire. She smears the cream all over Paul’s skin, up under the sleeves and legs of his swimsuit, through his short hair.

Claire follows Minnie to the edge of the water, keeping a close watch on her niece as she runs in and out of the gentle waves. The one thing she’s learnt in the last four years of being an aunt is kids are ridiculously unaware of dangers and will disappear from sight in a blink of an eye. Claire doesn’t think she’d ever be okay with being a mother - the responsibility of children is just… too much for her. At least she has her brother’s kids to spoil instead.

“Belle!”

Claire grabs hold of Minnie’s hand, turns toward the canopy where her brother stands; the screen of her cell phone glints in the sunlight. He jogs toward her and passes over the device. Claire waits until he’s got a secure grip on his daughter before she releases the child, stepping away to drag her finger across the screen. She hisses in pain when the hot casing of the phone burns her ear.

“Uh, hello?”

“Hi, Miss Hunter?”

“Yeah, this is she.”

“Fantastic. It’s Abigail Darlington. I was just calling to tell you that we have discussed your potential employment, and we’ve come to the conclusion that you are the candidate who best fits the position’s requirements.”

“Oh.” Claire pauses, lets the words sink in further. “_Oh_. That’s, wow. That’s great to hear.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. Now, I know it’s last-minute, but would Monday be a good start date for you?”

“Uh, yeah, I - I think so.”

“Wonderful. All right, well, I’ve got some other things to wrap up, but I will be sending you an email sometime this evening with the information you’ll need. We’ll see you first thing Monday morning. Have a great rest of your weekend, Miss Hunter.”

“Th-thanks! You, too, Miss Darlington.”

Claire hangs up and waits until the screen goes to black before she lets out a squeal of delight. Her hips shake from side to side, and she jumps in place. Deirdre laughs and raises a brow. Claire can only screech _I got it I got I got it!_ in response. Minnie collides with her legs, smiling a cheek-splitting grin, and Claire reaches down to pick up the child, hold her close, and spin around in circles. Minnie shrieks happily and tightens her grip around Claire’s neck. Tim throws an arm over his sister’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Congrats, Belle. I knew you’d get it.”

“You did not, you asshole. You were convinced I’d blown it.”

“That’s in the past, kiddo, gotta let it go!”

She shoves ineffectually at him, laughing nonetheless. She isn’t sure if there’s anything that could bring her down right now. She wasn’t even sure about the job in the first place, but now that it’s hers, she feels like she could float up to join the clouds lazily drifting across the sky. She kisses Minnie’s cheek with a loud smacking noise before setting her niece onto the ground. Tim tells his daughter to go to her mother, and Claire barely waits for him to prepare himself - she takes off running across the scorching sand and, once she’s far enough out, she dives under the surface of the waves. There’s a lightness in her bones and a warmth in her chest that burns with the intensity of a thousand suns.


	2. two.

Claire examines her outfit in the mirror one last time then nods succinctly. It’s perfectly professional, and the minimal makeup she’s put on does nothing but emphasise the natural contours and shape of her face. The last thing she wants to do is compound the bad first impression she’d made at her interview, and she has a feeling that showing up in her usual attire of leggings and an oversized T-shirt while wearing either too much or no makeup would only harm her chances at retaining this job. Blowing a kiss at her reflection, she grabs a pair of pumps from her closet, slips them onto her feet, and grabs her cross-body satchel from off the dresser. She drapes the strap over her neck as she exits her room and then promptly doubles back to collect her phone.

Matt gives her an unenthusiastic wave goodbye once she reaches the door; Claire’s surprised he’s even awake. She’d heard him yelling at Chuck and Duke for cheating while playing Mario Kart at four this morning, while Flop shouted out random nonsense to mess with them. She makes sure the door is locked behind her and hurries down the stairs as fast as she can without breaking an ankle or her neck. Her car is right where it should be in the parking garage, and she unlocks the door quickly and tosses her purse to the passenger seat. She brings up the email from Miss Darlington, copying the address and pasting it into the Maps app, and starts up the car while the route loads. Thankfully, it’s a relatively short drive, so she should be on time even if she stops for a coffee.

“Nah, better not,” she mumbles as she stares at the estimated time of arrival.

Traffic is, as always, a nightmare to navigate until she gets past the exits for the downtown buildings. After that, she can sit back and relax without having to slam on her brakes and yell at other drivers for being careless. It isn’t long before she’s signalling and waiting for a break in oncoming cars so she can cut cross the road to park in front of the fence. A gasp escapes her once she steps out of her car, now able to see the house beyond the fence. She fully expected something magnificent - most rich people, especially celebrities, have houses that she could only ever dream of seeing in person - but this is… something else entirely. Shaking her head, she tears her gaze away and focuses on rounding the front of her car to grab her purse from the passenger seat. She exits out of Maps as she passes a powder-blue Infiniti on her way to the gate.

The morning air is already heavy and damp with impending rain, and she gives the sky above a dirty look. It stretches out innocently, blue as far as she can see, but there’s a hint of dark grey at the edges. She locks her car, draws in a steadying breath. Her heels click rhythmically on the asphalt as she walks toward the front door with far more confidence than she really feels. The sound of the doorbell echoes from inside, and she starts up a mantra of _You can do this, it’s just a job, you’ve got this_ as she waits for someone to answer. The door opens after a long moment; the warped silhouette in the glass disappears, replaced by Miss Darlington’s pleasant smile and sharp pantsuit.

“Good morning. Come on in.”

Claire steps into the entryway and barely manages to stifle another gasp. She feels both overly-dressed and simultaneously like an insignificant speck of dust that doesn’t deserve to be here. Everything is clean, tidy, and that weird almost-casual kind of expensive - or at least, it looks expensive. Which is enough to make her clasp her hands tightly in front of her in an effort to stem the urges to touch. Footsteps thump on the stairs, and in a moment, her new boss appears. One hand is buried in his hair as he glares down at the phone in his other, his lips pulled down into a deep frown. Miss Darlington clears her throat quietly; he glances up once then again. The scowl on his face disappears, and Claire’s breath catches at the smile he sends her way.

“Mornin’.”

“Hi.”

“Okay. Well, Miss Hunter, if you’ll follow me. So this is obviously the kitchen, and you’ll be allowed in here basically whenever, eat whatever you’d like as long as it isn’t labelled. The one thing that’s asked is you clean up any messes you make immediately. It’s a thing,” she whispers, leaning close to Claire, before she points to a messenger bag on the long table. “This holds the laptop that you’ll be required to have with you at all times, and don’t worry - you won’t get in trouble if you use it to scroll through, like, FaceBook and Twitter, as long as you don’t ever, ever, ever post about any aspect of your job.”

“Not even ‘ugh, so glad today’s over, my boss is a jerk’ kind of thing?”

She laughs. “If you ever find a reason to post about your boss being a jerk, then I’m sorry that he’s suddenly had a personality transplant. He’s a total sweetheart. But yeah, that kind of stuff is fine. Just not posts about what you’ve heard or seen, where you are with him, anything like that.”

“Got it. Confidentiality.”

“Yep. All right, ready for a tour of the house?”

Claire nods slowly, and Miss Darlington click-clacks out of the kitchen. Claire hesitates - is she supposed to bring the laptop with her now? - but ultimately decides to leave the computer there and follows after the other woman. She makes sure to pay attention to which rooms Miss Darlington says are completely off-limits and though she promises not to ever even touch the doors, Claire can’t help but wonder what they are. She’s pretty sure one is a bedroom, but the other one is a mystery.

“You’ll probably have to stay the night every so often. Is that going to be a problem?”

Claire shakes her head. “It shouldn’t be, no.”

“Good. This room here will be where you’ll sleep, so feel free to leave an outfit or two, pyjamas, stuff like that. They won’t be disturbed, I promise. Any questions about the job? House? Anything?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. Well, this is the phone you’ll use to make all business-related calls. My number is programmed in there, so if you think of any, feel free to call or text or even send an email, and I’ll do my best to answer them.” Miss Darlington gives Claire a comforting smile, but Claire isn’t really reassured. Now that she’s here, it all seems so much more daunting than before. “I can tell you now that this job is easier than it seems in the beginning. There’s a bit of a learning curve, yes, and the days can be long sometimes, but there’s no one better to work for.”

Claire lets herself be guided downstairs, and Miss Darlington stops by the front door. After a quick goodbye and a promise to be a lifeline if Claire needs it, the other woman leaves; the door clicks shut quietly behind her, and Claire watches her figure get smaller through the glass. A car starts up outside, the engine quieting down as Miss Darlington drives away. Claire drags in an unsteady breath, wills herself some strength, and turns on her heel. She can do this. She _can_.


	3. three.

When she finally gathers up enough courage that she doesn’t really feel, Claire makes her way on unsteady legs toward the living room. Her boss sprawls on the sofa, eyes closed, and she clears her throat quietly. He jolts, surprised. She almost feels bad for startling him, but the grin he gives her eases the guilt before it can take root.

“Abby left, then?”

“Uh, yeah. She did.” Claire shifts her weight between her feet, fidgeting with the phone in her hand. “Is there anything you need me to do, Mister Horan?”

“First, you can start by not calling me Mister Horan. Niall is fine.”

“Oh. Okay. Niall.” The name tastes sweet on her tongue; her cheeks burn, and she ducks her head, hoping that psychic powers aren’t suddenly a _thing_.

His lips quirk. “You’ll get used to it. Second, not at the moment. Abby took care of sending out a memo about the ‘personnel change’, as she called it. So today’s mostly going to be us getting to know each other.”

Claire nods slowly, her breathing becoming more difficult at the thought of spending hours with him in the name of ‘getting to know each other’. Her knees threaten to give out from underneath her even as she crosses the room to perch on the end of the couch. He seems to know what she’s thinking; his laughter is soft, pleasant, and he leans back against the sofa. Her fingers twist around themselves as her mind races through all the information she’d read over the weekend during her research. Granted, there wasn’t an enormous amount of details about Niall except for superficial things - age, height, birth place, parents’ names, social media presence, that kind of thing; anything that was about something deeper was nowhere to be found. She had even tried listening to his music, both from when he was in One Direction and now his solo stuff, but that hadn’t been an easy task. His voice is great, but living in an apartment with four guys who constantly shouted over each other and had music blaring made basically everything impossible.

“Tell me about yourself.”

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “What do you wanna know?”

“Things I wouldn’t find on your CV, mostly,” he replies easily with a shrug.

“Um. Okay? Claire, obviously. I have an older brother, Tim -”

“The one who applied for you, yeah?”

“Yep, that’s him. He’s a few years older than I am, so he likes to do things ‘for my own good’. Honestly, I think he does it to get on my nerves.” Claire lets out a nervous laugh, picks at a hangnail. “Actually, that’s not true. I know he doesn’t like where I live, so this was probably his way of helping me get out of there.”

“Let me guess. Boyfriend he doesn’t approve of?”

“Ha! No, nothing like that. No boyfriend to speak of, just four asshole roommates. Let’s see... took a couple years off after high school, then I went to college in New York for a creative writing degree, came back, and now I’m here.”

“Are you glad?”

“To be here? In Cali, I guess. It’s home. But here in your house? I’m a little uncomfortable, to be honest. I’m not good with meeting new people, especially when I’ve already made a rotten first impression.”

His brows draw together, and Claire squirm as he frowns. “Rotten first impression?”

“Yeah. I was late to the interview because I was busy defending my honour.”

“That’s a _good_ first impression. I saw him reach out, didn’t think he’d actually made contact. Figured out he did when you stopped. I think you did the right thing. I would’ve been disappointed if you had let it go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

Niall sits upright, feet on the floor, and he clasps his hands together in front of him. Claire watches as he chews on his lower lip for a couple of seconds. When he turns his head to look at her, her breath catches in her throat; his eyes are absurdly blue, clear and dazzling in the sunlight that streams in through the windows. Her heart hammers in her chest, and she can only hope he can’t hear it.

“I don’t need a personal assistant. Well, I don’t think I do. My company disagrees. That’s the only reason why Abby was in my life at all. But now she’s had to leave for her own reasons, and I don’t begrudge her that. As it is, she had to find a replacement, and the only requirement I had was that they were first, competent and second, not a pushover. She didn’t want me to choose you because you were late, but the fact that you stood up for yourself worked in your favour. I made the final decision that you be hired because of what you did. If you hadn’t said anything to that guy, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“Well, I’m... glad my actions worked out then.”

His answering smile is bright; something tugs deep in Claire’s gut. “I’m glad, too. Now, what has Abby told you about me?”

Thankfully, his words seem to have eased some of the awkwardness, and Claire finds it easier to talk to him. He’s just as funny and kind as Miss Darlington - Abby - said. She tells him about her parents, her brother and his wife and kids. He listens carefully, his gaze never leaving her face as she talks. She isn’t sure if he actually cares, but she thinks it’s nice of him if it turns out he’s pretending.

Claire eventually runs out of things to say, and she falls silent; Niall’s gaze darts down to where she’s picking at her fingernails, but then he smiles and distracts her by telling her stories from his life. She lets herself get lost in the cadence and melody of his voice, the way his face lights up the more he talks. His hands move with his words, and she wonders if he’s always this happy and easy to get along with. The thought passes through, quickly being shoved away. Today is only her first day - she can’t make a bad impression by appearing to space out.

With a heavy sigh, Claire pushes through the front door of the apartment, waving vaguely in Matt’s direction as he stuffs his mouth full of potato chips on the couch, then shuffles down the hall to her room. Flop and Chuck are arguing in the room next to hers, their voices completely unobstructed by the wall between them. She drops her purse onto her dresser and falls backwards across her mattress.

Meeting Niall, learning more about him, was a great way to spend the day. The fact that he seems to be so easygoing has definitely put her at ease. Claire feels less like she is out of her depths and more excited to get started with this job. That she’s going to be on-call every day and night is a bit daunting, because she’s a notoriously deep sleeper, and what if her phone rings in the middle of the night and she doesn’t hear it? But on the other hand, the job will keep her from being around her roommates for too long. She’s so thankful that Matt let her move in and even gave her a room of her own, even though as main lessee, he should have that right. Claire just isn’t close to the others, and honestly, she finds them all to be... too much to handle on good days.

Moving back to California hadn’t been in her plans; she thought she’d graduate from college and get a job somewhere, anywhere else and make it on her own. Then reality had set in: No one wanted to hire a fresh-from-school woman with a degree in creative writing, and she couldn’t make rent all on her own. Even a one-room studio had proven to be more than she could afford. So she’d had to swallow her pride and ask Tim to pay for a ticket back home, leaving behind her meagre possessions when she left, and she had moved back in with her parents for a while. Then she’d literally run into Matt while on a jog in the park, and he’d instantly offered up a place for her to stay. Taking whatever job she could get had felt like admitting defeat for the longest of time, but even though Matt wouldn’t have minded covering her portion of rent (and where he got the money, Claire still hasn’t found out), she would have.

Tim had, once again, come to her rescue by applying for the personal assistant position on her behalf. She hadn’t lied to Abby, though: She really did work for a wedding planner, but it certainly wasn’t as fruitful a work experience as she’d hoped for. It was mainly being yelled at by clients, being blamed when something went wrong even if it was the planner’s fault, and crawling home late at night with her tail tucked between her legs and unable to hold her head up long enough to scarf down a pre-packaged frozen dinner before bed. But Claire figures that experience is worth it, since she now has what seems to be a pretty decent gig.

With a sigh, she crosses the room to grab her phone and earbuds from her purse, pairing the device with the Bluetooth earpieces, and brings up the YouTube app. The apartment is suspiciously and abnormally quiet, so now is as good a time as any to actually listen to her boss’s music. She gets through about half of One Direction’s final album, writes down which songs she likes best, then switches over to Niall’s solo album. _Too Much to Ask_ instantly makes her choke up, want to hug him tightly and tell him everything will be okay; she replays the song three more times before she closes out of YouTube. She drags in a shuddering breath, exhaling slowly.

“Well, that’s me fucked.”

She hesitates then taps on the Messages icon, typing out a message to Tim.

Tim-Tam  
  
**Claire:** Omggg Tim-Tam, save me  
  
**Tim-Tam:** Whats up belle?  
  
**Claire:** My boss is fucking incredible and I'm going to fail because holy shittttt  
  
**Tim-Tam:** Stop being an idiot  
**Tim-Tam:** And dont fall in love  
**Tim-Tam:** U need the job  
  
**Claire:** Your faith in me is overwhelming, as usual. Asshole.  
  
**Tim-Tam:** Love u too  
**Tim-Tam:** Mas on Sat?  
  
**Claire:** Hell yes. Just us?  
  
**Tim-Tam:** U got it. Now go to bed ttyl  
  


****

Claire smiles and plugs her phone in on its charger. Leave to Tim to know how to make her calm down without even trying. He’s right, though. It’s getting late, and she has to be up early for work. She heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth then changes into a pair of pyjamas. The sound of the television blaring the _Crash Bandicoot_ game starts up, barely muffled by the room between Claire’s and the living room, and she groans, falling face-first onto the bed. As she lies there desperately wishing the electricity would suddenly cut off, she wonders idly if Tim has an extra bed she could sleep in. Hell, at this point, she’s willing to share with Minnie.


	4. four.

Her alarm goes off, the sound of Sugar Ray’s _Every Morning_ too much to handle this early, and Claire damn near hisses like an angry cat as she reaches blindly for her phone. Unfortunately, her flailing knocks the device to the floor and, judging by the sound, under her bed. She groans and debates whether she should even get out of bed right now. She hadn’t fallen asleep until after three because of the guys, and now it’s six a.m. and she’s exhausted.

The thought of disappointing Niall and losing her job on her second day is the only reason Claire forces herself to move. She stumbles sleepily to the closet and stares with bleary eyes at the four professional outfits Deirdre had bought for her. They all look identical to her, but her sister-in-law had been adamant they were all necessary. Claire reaches for the clothes hanging closest to her, not giving a damn what shade of blue the shirt is or whether there are or are not pinstripes on the pants. Her movements are awkward, slow, stilted, as she changes, and she somehow manages to not fall on her face while she steps into the slacks.

The apartment is dark and silent when she shuffles down the hall. Claire slips her feet into a pair of low heels; with as tired as she is, she has a feeling that if she goes for pumps, she’ll fall on her face and die. Her keys jingle loudly as she grabs them off the key-hook. She doesn’t even try to close the front door quietly behind her, just locks it quickly and heads down the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, traffic is just as nightmarish as usual. Claire somehow manages to not get into a wreck, and she finally pulls up in front of the house forty-five minutes later. Her head is pounding from a mixture of exhaustion and lack of caffeine. Locking the car behind her, she makes her way up the walk and to the front door. She hesitates just outside - is she supposed to just walk in? Knock? Do a weird little jig on the doorstep in hopes that it’ll alert him somehow that she’s here? - but she doesn’t have long to wait. The door opens, and she’s greeted by Niall’s grinning face.

“Abby told me to tell you she’s sorry that she forgot to give you the spare key.”

“Well, tell Abby… yeah, I don’t even know. Morning.”

“You look tired.”

“If that’s your polite, Irish way of saying I look like shit, thanks, you’re not wrong. I _am_ tired.”

He steps aside so she can enter the house, and Claire flashes him a grateful smile that only grows when he promises her that there’s coffee in the kitchen. A man sits at the table, staring down at the screen of his phone, but he looks up at the sound of Claire’s footsteps. She waves vaguely; her attention is solely on the beautiful machinery on the counter that holds the only thing she cares about. Niall is nice enough to get a mug from the cupboard without her having to ask, and his eyes are shining with amusement at the grabby hands she makes in his direction. She doesn’t bother with sugar or milk, just takes a sip and muffles a hiss when the coffee burns her tongue.

“Claire, this is Sean Mulholland, my best mate. Mully, this is Claire.”

“Hi.” Claire keeps her hands wrapped around the mug, though she does give him a pleasant smile. “Sorry, I’ll be better at this whole human thing in a few.”

Mully grins and shakes his head. “It’s understandable. Far too early in the morning for social interaction. It’s nice to meet you, Claire, but I’d best be off. Work and all.”

“Don’t remind me that working is a vital requirement to adulting,” she groans, feeling oddly victorious when both men laugh.

Niall turns to her once Mully has left the kitchen, and Claire swallows another mouthful of coffee before preparing herself for listening. To her surprise, all he does is announce that he’s going to have a lazy morning, and she’s free to join in; he says he didn’t sleep well last night, so the only thing he wants to do is lounge around and listen to music, but Claire thinks that it isn’t the sole reason. Can he possibly be making an excuse to make her day easier? She shoos the thought away, finishes her coffee.

Claire feels awkward just sitting on the couch, but Niall doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, he appears perfectly comfortable with where she is and the fact that she isn’t doing any sort of job that she’s been hired to do. After a long thirty minutes, Claire clears her throat quietly and asks if there is anything about the job that she needs to know. Niall frowns, but she can’t question it before he’s answering her inquiry. There are a lot of names that he recites, and she struggles a bit to write them down along with the dietary restrictions he tells her he has - mostly because he keeps bouncing back and forth between the subjects without warning - but this is something she can do. Having a task to focus on settles the unease in her gut.

Claire checks the list against the items in the grocery cart. She hasn’t missed anything, she doesn’t think, so she heads to the checkout. The cashier behind the register barely looks away from his hands as he scans the items, and she doesn’t try to initiate conversation. She is still tired, her mental processes seeming to lag the longer she’s on her feet. The only reason that she came to the store is because she’d seen the shopping list pinned to the fridge, asked Niall if it was part of her job to get groceries, and been somewhat surprised when he said no.

“Well, not really?” he amended at the way her brows raised to her hairline. “I mean, Abby never really did the shopping, I usually use delivery services, but if you want to, feel free to do it whenever as long as we’re not busy.”

Claire slams the trunk closed and puts the cart in the corral. Her phone rings just as she’s sliding into the driver’s seat of her car. She waits until she’s started up the engine and the device connects to the Bluetooth before answering the call.

“Yes, Boss Man?”

“Hey, so, uh, wanna pick up some lunch on your way back? Nothing in the fridge sounds appealing. Unless you’re already close to here, then don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can find something here that sounds good -”

“Do you _always_ ramble so damn much when asking someone a simple question, or is this a special occasion to drive me nuts?” she mutters as he’s speaking, and she claps a hand over her mouth, hoping against hope that he didn’t hear her.

“- But if you’re still out, I could really go for a Big Mac.”

There’s a clacking noise, a sharp intake of breath, and Claire knows she has no luck whatsoever. Her brain screams that this is the reason she will be out of a job - again. And how is she going to explain _that_ to Tim after he got her the job in the first place? She closes her eyes and clears her throat.

“Sure, I can stop by McDonald’s, text me what you want, ‘kay, bye!”

She hangs up before he can say anything else. Her cheeks burn painfully, and her skin feels hot and cold in turns. Her phone buzzes in the cupholder, and she looks at the message. All it says is Niall’s order, and she’s thankful that he hasn’t mentioned her comment yet. On the other hand, it makes her even more nervous about getting back to the house; is he going to wait for her to pass over the food then fire her? Her stomach growls, loud in the silence of the car, but she knows if she eats, she’s going to throw up. So she just requests and pays for the food her boss wants, sets it on the passenger seat, and drives back to his house.

It’s odd, isn’t it, how the things a person is looking forward to seem to take forever to arrive, but the second they don’t want something to happen, time flies by until they have no choice but to face the event. Claire’s hands clench around the steering wheel, and she tries to convince herself to get out of the vehicle, take the groceries and McDonald’s food into the house, and face the music of what she’s done. It takes a lot more pep-talk than she anticipated, but eventually, she shoves open her door and does as she’s been demanding of herself.

Niall greets her at the door on her second trip into the house, remaining silent until she’s set the canvas grocery bags on the table in the kitchen. Nervousness burns along her flesh under his heavy scrutiny, but she busies herself with putting the food away. Eventually, she runs out of things to do, so steeling herself, she turns to face her boss, clasps her hands together behind her back. He doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against the archway; his brow raises when he sees that her attention is on him.

“So I ramble to drive you nuts, do I?”

Claire swallows past the lump in her throat. “I, I am so sorry about that. I didn’t mean it, not really. I swear it won’t happen again. Please don’t fire me.”

Niall’s serious expression breaks at her begging. He laughs, shaking his head, and Claire cocks her head and frowns. He sits down in one of the chairs, gestures to the one across from him. She lowers herself on shaky knees into the seat.

“I was wondering when your real personality would show.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Had a feeling that you weren’t nearly as sweet and charming all the time as you seemed yesterday.” His words crack with another chuckle. Claire scowls as he visibly gets control of himself again. “Sorry, sorry. Look, Claire, I’m not going to fire you over a snappy comment like that. Abby said a _lot_ worse than that, and I still kept her around, right? Her efficiency was only part of why I liked her.”

“I’m still sorry. It wasn’t professional.”

He snorts inelegantly. “Does anything of the last two days scream professional to you? Just… don’t be completely disrespectful, and I’m sure we’ll get along fine. I like someone with a little fire in their blood much more than I like passive pushovers.”

Claire leaves a few hours later feeling much more secure in her employment status than she had when she returned with his lunch. She’d tested out his tolerance for quips and witticisms, and he responded wonderfully, laughing each and every time. She hadn’t wanted to push it too far, though, so she kept them to a minimum. And if she’s driving home with the warmth of his laughter beneath her ribs, then who needs to know?

Her roommates are in various states of undress - and sobriety - when she walks in the front door. Claire breezes past them, unwilling to risk being caught in their stoned discussions. She does make a stop in the kitchen to grab a Diet Coke from the fridge before heading down the hall. Once she has her bedroom door locked behind her, she hurries to change out of her pantsuit and into a pair of leggings and a baggy sweater. Tim sent a text earlier in the day, asking how her second day went. Her heart swells with his concern.

Tim-Tam  
  
**Claire:** You busy?  
**Claire:** Because I kiiiiiiiinda fucked upbr />   
**Tim-Tam:** ????????  
  
**Claire:** My boss now knows I’m a foul-mouthed smartass…  
  
**Tim-Tam:** BELLE. He wasnt supposed to find that out until AFTER he figured out he couldnt live without your subpar PA skills!!!  


Tim’s response wasn’t unexpected, but it still catches her off-guard. Claire giggles quietly, popping the tab on her soda, and types back with one hand while taking a sip with the other.

  
**Claire:** Don’t be an ass. Besides, he didn’t seem to mind. He actually kinda encouraged it.  
  
**Tim-Tam:** DO. NOT. FALL. IN. LOVE!!!  
  


“Yeah, yeah, shut up, dummy,” she mutters even as she sends back a _Fuck you, Timmy_.

She can’t help but wonder if maybe Tim might be onto something, though.


	5. five.

Evidently, it’s best to jump straight into new situations, since that’s exactly what Claire is doing. She checks and replies to emails, occasionally having to ask Niall for clarification on whether the message is a priority or if it can be put off until later, and she’s gotten much better at answering calls. Niall had laughed, not unkindly, the first time she’d greeted someone; nerves had caused her to stutter and stumble over her words, flushing bright red when she had to take a deep breath and try again. Thankfully, Niall didn’t comment on it whenever he heard her practising what to say if the phone rang again.

Claire had been surprised at his genuine curiosity on Wednesday when she let herself into the house with a shopping bag in her hand. She’d passed over the coffee she stopped to get for him then pulled out the new planner and pack of pens she bought on her way home the night before. His brows pulled tightly together over his eyes, and his gaze flicked between the scheduler and her face a few times before he hesitantly reminded her that both the laptop and the phone have calendars on them that sync up. She had shrugged in response, said she liked her system, and that was that.

Thursday morning dawns cloudy and grey, and Claire wants nothing more than to stay wrapped up in her blankets. Niall gave her today off, but she knows she can’t enjoy it the way she wants, absolutely not - Abby had warned her that even when she isn’t working, she’s working. So with a sigh, she shoves back her comforter and pads across the room, stretching out her sleep-tense muscles as she goes. She drags a pair of dark skinny jeans from the hanger then shuffles toward her dresser for a top. She yanks the jeans up her legs quickly, shivering in the cool air of her bedroom, then trades her long T-shirt for the tank-top and royal blue sweater.

Once she’s ready for the day, long hair pulled back into a low bun and teeth brushed, Claire gathers up the documents she needs and makes her way through the apartment to the front door. She shoves her feet into her favourite pair of knee-high boots, zips up the sides, and grabs her keys from the hook. A moment’s hesitation, then she grabs the umbrella from the stand by the door. The rack had been her contribution to the apartment shortly after she moved in, after she got tired of stepping in puddles from the guys leaving their wet shoes and sweaters on the floor whenever it rained; they still don’t use umbrellas regularly, but at least they now throw their rain-soaked belongings onto the rack instead of everywhere else.

Thunder rolls overhead, but the rain doesn’t come yet. Claire knows it’s only a matter of time. The leaden clouds roil above the city, and she hopes against hope that they don’t let loose while she’s driving. It seems like whenever it storms, a majority of drivers either decide they don’t know how to drive properly or the low visibility and drenched roads mean “become a speed demon and forgo any and all safety rules”.

The parking lot of the building is surprisingly nearly vacant; only three other cars sit in the spaces, and Claire grins to herself. She takes a moment to double-check the schedule that Abby started, frowns when she sees a business trip planned for the middle of next month. She isn’t quite sure how long the process for a passport takes, but she’s pretty sure it takes more than five weeks. Shrugging, she decides to ask the clerk inside.

Bright spots dance in her vision after the camera goes off, and she blinks rapidly as she steps aside. The woman behind the desk promises that her passport will arrive within a few weeks, definitely in time for her trip. Claire smiles and says a sincere thanks before leaving. The sky is still a sheet of grey and heavy with moisture, the pavement of the parking lot darkened by the rain that’s fallen during the hours she spent inside. She hurries to her car, sending a text message to Niall from the work phone that she’s done with the passport stuff, does he need her to come in today?

He still hasn’t responded by the time she parks outside of Starbucks, and Claire rolls her eyes. Her phone buzzes, but she dismisses the text reminder of her appointment tomorrow with her doctor. She literally set the appointment Monday night, so she’s pretty sure she would have remembered even without the text. She hesitates just inside of the warm building, waits for a reply from her boss, but none comes. So she heads to the counter and asks for her usual drink.

She hasn’t had her job for very long, but already it feels weird to be out among the masses on a weekday instead of in Niall’s house. She honestly would prefer to be there instead of here; the coffeeshop is far too crowded for her liking, and the chairs aren’t nearly as comfortable as the armchair that she has practically claimed as her own in her boss’s living room. Plus, there’s no steady strains of the Eagles or Fleetwood Mac playing in the background. With a sigh, she checks her phone for a text, but the screen remains free of any notifications.

Claire ends up in her parents’ driveway an hour later. She wonders what the hell she’s thinking even as she steps out into the humid air. Her mom and dad have been amazing through everything - typical parents who want to be supportive but also don’t want their child to have to struggle. But Claire is still worried about what they’ll think of their daughter being a personal assistant; they had high hopes for her when she went off to college, and the last thing she wants to do is disappoint them. She knows there isn’t anything shameful about her job - in fact, the fact that it’s so demanding and time-consuming is what makes it the most difficult job she’s ever had. Groaning aloud, she pushes the circling thoughts from her brain and walks up to the front door.

“Who the Hell - Claire Annabelle Hunter, you know better than to scare me like that!” Her mother wipes her hands on the dishtowel hanging over her shoulder then reaches out her arms for a hug. “What are you doing here, baby girl?”

Claire breathes in the scent of cinnamon and sugar that clings to her mother’s hair, reminded so vividly of her childhood. It never seemed to matter how tired or overworked her parents were - they always made time to make memories with their children. She lets her mother hold her for as long as she wants; it’s been almost a month since Claire has come by for a visit. When they part, she follows her mom into the kitchen and instantly makes her way to the sink. She washes her hands as her mom fills her in on the new events in their lives - which isn’t much, considering the sleepy neighbourhood the Hunter parents live in, the same group of friends they’ve had for years. Melissa pins her daughter with a pointed look as Claire starts rolling the dough.

“So, Elsie was ’round the other day. Her boy, Ben, got accepted into Harvard, did you know that?”

“Yes, Mom. I know. Tim told me, just like you told him to. Congrats to Ben.”

“He’s such a good boy.”

“I’m sure he is, Mom.”

“I think you two would be so cute together.”

_And there it is_. “I’m not interested in dating right now. I mean, I’ve just started my job, and it’s… a mess, quite frankly.” Claire holds up a hand to stem her mother’s protests. “Seriously. I have only been working for less than a week. Give me some time to settle in, and maybe I’ll reconsider. But for now? I’m going to focus on myself.”

“If you’re sure. Tell me about this job of yours then.”

Claire hesitates but then relents. Her mother _mmm_s at the appropriate times as Claire describes the duties she’s had to do over the last few days. The awkwardness buzzing under her skin causes her to stumble over her words, but thankfully, Melissa doesn’t say anything derogatory. Instead, she places a hand on Claire’s, stopping her daughter from transferring the cinnamon rolls to the baking sheet.

“I’m really proud of you, Belle, and I hope you keep enjoying this job. I really do.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Matt is the only one in the apartment when she comes through the door. She hangs her keys on the hook and gives him a questioning look. He shrugs, goes back to playing _Diablo III_. Rolling her eyes, Claire makes her way to her bedroom and changes into a pair of sweats. She tosses her jeans and the sweater she wore into the hamper, heading back out to the living room. Guilt niggles at her when she realises that it’s been quite a while since she even spoke to Matt, though they’re roommates and have been for the past year.

“Look at you, all professional and shit,” he comments as she sits on the couch, and she shoves lightly at his shoulder. “Wanna play?”

Claire thinks for less than a second then shrugs. “Yeah, why not.”

He tosses her the extra controller, quits the game he’s currently playing, and settles back against the sofa to let her choose which character she wants to play as. The next few minutes are spent with him explaining the game, her learning the controls, and then merciless killing of the monsters in the game. It’s fun, and Claire feels herself relaxing more and more as she plays. Matt looks over at her for a moment then reaches for the lighter on the table, and Claire frowns at the smell that fills the air. She doesn’t say anything, though; it isn’t her place to remark on him smoking a joint, not when it’s his apartment. She bites back her sigh, focuses on the game.

Niall still hasn’t texted by the time she wakes up at six the next morning. Claire doesn’t let it get to her, though. She knows he has been enjoying the bit of time to himself before he gets busy again, so she sends a quick message to him, reminding him of her doctor’s appointment this morning, and promises to be at his as soon as her check-up is over. She changes quickly into a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved top the colour of a plum. Grabbing a black blazer and the messenger bag for work, she heads out to the front door, pushing her feet into her ankle boots.

She fully expects to be sat in the waiting room of the doctor’s office for longer, but she gets called back only ten minutes past the appointment time. The nurse is friendly but efficient, and soon enough, Claire is walking out of the office with an updated immunisation record and mild throbbing in both of her arms from the vaccinations. She tucks the papers into the messenger bag and hurries out to her car. Her phone beeps just as she slides into the driver’s seat.

Niall  
  
**Niall:** Feel free to come hang out but there isn’t anything on the schedule for the day  
  
**Claire:** You sure? I don’t want you to get sick of me already.  


Niall’s response is a laugh-cry emoji and a reassurance that he won’t mind her company. So she puts her car in drive and points the wheels toward his house.


	6. six.

Claire scowls as her older brother plops down into the seat across from her, and he laughs but doesn’t apologise for messing with her hair. She runs her hand through her hair to flatten it then crosses her eyes at Tim. A stout woman weaves her way around the dining area, refilling cups with the ease of practise. Her steel-grey hair is pinned back in her signature style - a sharp bun at the base of her skull, the metal bobby pins glinting dully under the lights. Edna smiles widely at the Hunter siblings once she arrives at the table.

“How we doin’ today?”

“Hey, Ma. We’re doing good.” Tim glances at Claire and, as usual, knows exactly what she wants. “We’ll take the usual.”

“Coupla burgers, no onion or tomato on Miss Claire Belle’s but extra mayo and pickle, and a Coke and Dr Pepper?”

“Yes, ma’am. Is Charlie making sweet potato fries today?”

“Sorry, baby, not today. Said they weren’t up to snuff, and he’ll be damned if he serves anything less than perfect.”

“Regular fries will be fine, then. Thanks, Ma.”

“I’ll be right back,” Edna promises with a soft pat on Claire’s shoulder.

The old woman’s smoky voice is as familiar to Claire as the inside of the diner. She stares around the place as Edna disappears into the back. Tim used to bring her here every chance they got after he got his license, and they’ve grown close to the couple who owned the diner. Charlie rarely makes his presence known much any more - he’s always said that one day, some idiot was going to be the death of his patience to deal with the public, and evidently, it’s happened, since Claire hasn’t seen him during the last handful of times she’s stopped in. The tiles on the walls are chipped, yellowed from when smoking indoors was still allowed, and covered with photographs of various people: Edna and Charlie; regular customers who have been coming for years, and Claire doesn’t have to search very hard to see the picture of her and Tim from the night of her prom; even the occasional celebrity who somehow lost their way and stumbled inside for a hot meal and lively conversation with the patrons. The watery lights overhead gleam fully off the thin layer of grease that clings to the pea-green laminate tabletops. Claire is certain the floors under the tables aren’t any better in terms of stickiness. The staff is very competent and clean regularly, but when there are fifty-three years of patronage stuffed into one building, there are bound to be some things that don’t go away, no matter how hard you scrub.

“Remember the first time we came here?” she asks suddenly, and Tim stares at her, brows furrowed as he thinks. “Jess Thompson had just broken up with me, and I, ever the dramatic thirteen-year-old, was crying from the broken heart i was sure I would never recover from.”

“Oh, yeah! You really should’ve been an actress. You were putting on a show about how your entire life was _ruined_, all because one stupid boy decided he didn’t want you any more.”

“That damned Becky Carmichael. Her and her popularity destroyed my very first love.”

“Belle, you weren’t in love. You were thirteen.”

“I could’ve been!” She laughs, shaking her head. “I was so dumb to be so wrapped up in him.”

“Not dumb, just young.”

The pair falls silent while they eat, and Claire kicks herself mentally for ever forgetting how amazing Charlie’s burgers are. She drags a pickle slice out from her sandwich and pops it into her mouth, crunching down on it and smiling as the sharp vinegar explodes on her tongue. Tim smacks her hand when she reaches for the plate of fries between them; she swats him back but waits until he’s grabbed a handful to pick out a few of the mushier ones. She chews slowly, dips another fry in the puddle of ketchup on the edge of her brother’s plate, then sighs.

“Did... did I ever thank you? For being such an amazing big brother? I mean, even when you were being annoying, I always knew I could count on you.”

“You weren’t too bad yourself, kid. You were irritating and frustrating and so damn melodramatic, sure, but you weren’t an awful baby sister. I’m just glad you seem to be doing all right for yourself.”

“I don’t think having a job for one whole week can be construed as all right for myself,” she protests as Edna places their refilled cups in front of them. “Besides, I never would’ve gotten the job - or even back to California - without your help.”

“You know if this job turns out to suck major nuts, you can always quit and come stay with us until you find something better, right?”

“I can’t always keep relying on you to save my ass, Tim-Tam.”

“That’s bullshit, Belle, and you know it. We’re family. We’re brother and sister. It’s literally in our code to protect and watch out for each other.”

“And how often have I protected you?”

The question is meant to be rhetorical, sarcastic, but Tim answers anyway. “Remember when I was dating Simone? You kept telling me she was scum and I deserved better, even though it caused fights between us every time. You never changed your mind about her, you never pretended to like her just to save the peace. You kept what was best for me in mind, and you tried your damnedest to prevent the damage from her shit. And you were there when everything went to Hell in a hand-basket without even one single ‘I told you so.’”

“Everything okay?”

Claire grins up at Edna and nods enthusiastically. “Perfect as always, Ma. Tell Charlie I’ve gained thirty pounds just sitting here.”

Her throaty chuckle morphs into a cough, and she walks away still laughing. She turns around when Tim calls her name, and Claire rolls her eyes as her brother asks for a Belle of the Bowl. The dish was named after Claire; Tim had brought her here in the middle of her prom when her date had suddenly disappeared only to be found in the bathroom with his pants around his ankles, the cheerleading captain’s dress pushed up to her breasts. Claire had immediately called her brother in tears, and he left his warm bed to come pick her up. He had asked Edna if there was any way they could make the dessert, he was willing to pay extra if it would make his sister smile. Edna took one look at the crying teenager in the pretty gown and instantly agreed; thus, the Belle of the Bowl was born.

“Belle.” Tim pushes away his plate and rests his elbows on the tabletop, folds his hands together. “You have _always_ had my back through everything, and I’m always gonna have yours. Even if it means you crash on my couch for a bit until you’re on your feet.”

Claire clears the lump from her throat and blinks away tears. Thankfully, being interrupted by dessert proves to be a successful distraction, and she’s much more composed by the time Edna has passed over two spoons and walked away. Tim curses when Claire hits the back of his hand with her spoon; it may be childish, but they get into a sword-fight of sorts, smacking their spoons against each other in the attempt to be the first to take a bite of the ice cream.

Waking up at the insistence of her alarm is a lot easier come Wednesday morning. Though she shivers in the cold air of her bedroom and curses her roommates for adjusting the thermostat sometime in the night, she bounces across the room and hurriedly dresses, excited to get back to work. The last two days have been effortless to get through. Monday was spent setting up the guest room in Niall’s house in a way that she is okay with; she’d asked him if that was acceptable - she hadn’t wanted to rearrange the furniture if he would have a problem with it, she just really cannot stand having three exposed sides of a bed. He laughed and told her to go wild.

She had learnt more about Niall on Tuesday from an email from Abby. The woman had apologised again for not remembering to leave the spare key then segued into a list outlining the things that Claire will eventually witness. It had been incredibly awkward reading these things about her boss, though Claire understands why Abby had been so forthright about it - she can’t do her job properly if she isn’t aware of Niall’s tics and compulsions. She’d made sure that her boss wasn’t watching her then delved into researching OCD and ways that she might possibly help if he needs it.

“You ready to go?”

Claire double-checks that she has everything in the messenger bag and nods in Niall’s direction. She heads to the car while he locks the house up behind them; the meeting today is supposed to be a simple in-and-out, and Niall assured her that it is going to be mostly informal, just some minor details that need pressed out more completely, so Claire isn’t too worried about how it will go.

“Uh, I’m sorry, but do you mind if I record the conversation?” she asks hesitantly, and the guy - she can’t remember his name right now - cocks his head to the side. “I only ask so I can transcribe it later.”

The man looks surprised but nods nonetheless, gestures that she can do so. As she digs through the bag for the work phone, she catches sight of Niall. He raises a brow at her when she sets the work phone on the surface of the conference table, the recording app pulled up and ready to go, along with a notepad and pen. She shrugs awkwardly and promises to explain after the meeting.

He was right. They’re out on the sidewalk within half an hour, and Claire breathes a sigh of relief. It was easy enough to take notes as the two men talked, but it was still awkward to sit there and write things down without contributing to the conversation. Niall turns to her once they are both sat in the car and buckled up. She exhales slowly, forces a smile.

“I like having an audio recording of conversations, especially when they’re important ones like that. That way, no one can say something was or wasn’t said without being able to pull up the proof of what actually happened. It also means that nothing gets misunderstood, and if it does, you can go back and listen to the conversation and figure out where the discrepancy is.” Claire scratches idly at her forehead, avoids his gaze. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head and rushes to assure her, “No, no, not weird at all! Abby took notes all the time, but she never recorded. Which is why it caught me off guard that you would. Not weird, I’m just not used to it.”

“I just… wanted to make your life easier.”

“I appreciate your forethought.”

The grin he flashes in her direction eases the nerves and discomfort she feels, and Claire settles into the passenger seat, much more at peace now. The drive back to his house takes over an hour with lunch-time traffic, and though they don’t talk much during the trip, the silence is a comfortable one. She sings along quietly to the radio, her fingers tapping against her knee to the beat. Between the bright sunshine pouring in through the windows and the lightness in her bones, Claire feels like she can breathe freely, even if her head is spinning from the spiced cologne that she can smell coming from her left.


	7. seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since its thaksgivebg where i am i  
m drumj enjot teh early chaptr

Somehow, the next month flies by. Abby was right: The job certainly is a lot easier than Claire feared. He doesn’t require much from her most of the time - they usually just hang out, and though she still has to keep up with professional correspondence even when there aren’t any meetings on the schedule and occasionally make trips to the grocery store or drycleaners’, she feels awkward accepting a paycheck for basically doing nothing but relaxing. Niall has even allowed her to spend a few lazy afternoons swimming in the pool while he did whatever in one of the rooms she’s not permitted to enter.

She’s also been working to build a friendship with Niall. He’s her boss, sure, but he made it a point to open the door for a relationship beyond just employer-employee in the first place. She hates the discomfort she feels before she manages to lose herself in the conversations, but she has to admit that it’s fun to spend time with him and Mully, to get to know the two Irishmen and their incredibly hilarious sense of humour. She can’t find anything to complain about so far, and Claire knows it’s ridiculous, but she’s still hopeful it remains that way.

With a groan, Claire rolls over in bed and fumbles blindly for the phone buzzing across the nightstand. She pushes herself onto an elbow and peers blearily at the screen. It tells her that it’s just before midnight and that her boss is calling. She slides a finger across the screen, lifts the phone to her ears.

“Hey, Boss Man, what’s up?”

“I need you to come over.”

There’s something in his voice that doesn’t sit right with Claire. Her sleepiness disappears in a flash, and she sits upright, frowning. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, just… get here.”

He hangs up before she can say anything else. Her heart hammers beneath her ribs as she hurries out of bed. Something tells her she doesn’t have time to worry about changing into something other than the cotton shorts and oversized band T-shirt, so she just grabs up the messenger bag and her personal phone, runs through the dark apartment, and slips her feet into a pair of flip-flops as she hurriedly unlocks the door. It isn’t until she’s in the hallway and trying to lock the door with keys she doesn’t have that she realises she’s forgotten something in her rush. She ducks back into the apartment to grab her keys.

The road stretches on in front of her, the black of the night interrupted at random intervals by the occasional passing car. Claire glances at the clock on the dashboard; it has been twenty minutes since Niall called, and she’s only halfway to his house. Her mind has been racing the entire time, wondering what could possibly be happening that he would phone her in the middle of the night. She can’t fathom what would require so much urgency. Her hands tremble violently, and she clutches the steering wheel more tightly, drags in breath after unsteady breath in an effort to calm herself down.

“You’re drunk,” is the first thing she says when she lets herself into the house, and Niall snorts derisively, swallowing down another mouthful of his drink. “Niall, why are you drunk?”

His accent is thicker than normal, almost impossible to understand, when he says shortly, “Because I wanted t’ drink.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps out.

“Niall -”

“I need more. Go get more.”

“No.” His eyes, the blue so icy with anger that it causes Claire’s breath to hitch, snap to her face, and his lips turn down in the corners. There’s a flush to his cheeks that isn’t solely from his alcohol consumption. Claire swallows thickly but stands firm, no matter how much she wishes Mully were here to help - if he even would. “I think you’re drunk enough, Niall.”

“Fine. I-I can just call an Uber to take me.”

His coordination is shot to Hell, which makes it ridiculously easy for Claire to snatch his phone from his hands before he can even unlock it. He clumsily swipes at her to get it back, but she shoves it up the bottom of her shirt and slips the phone into her bra. He scowls, grumbling under his breath, and finishes off his drink. Claire knows this is a bad idea, but she offers to make him another one. Niall’s doubt is evident, though he doesn’t decline, just holds the glass out to her.

She sits on the end of the couch and watches him closely. He seems to be getting angrier the more he drinks, his cheeks growing redder with time. His scowl grows darker every time he glares at her. Claire sighs and takes the glass from him once it’s empty again for the third time. His sloppy smile is tinged with hope - hope that shouldn’t exist. He evidently comes to that conclusion when she comes back from the kitchen empty-handed.

“Where’s m’ drink?”

“You’ve had enough. So, no more.”

“I’ll fire you.”

“You can try.”

“You can’t just hold a hostage man's liquor!”

“I’m not holding your liquor hostage, Niall. I’m telling you that you’re drunk enough. I’m preventing you from causing liver damage or alcohol poisoning.”

Niall stumbles to his feet, and Claire takes a large step back. The alcohol on his breath is enough to make her eyes water when he stops in front of her. Glazed-over eyes narrowed, he presses the tip of his finger to her collarbone, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shakes his head as his face twists up in disgust. Her hand trembles as she wraps her fingers around his wrist; he blinks owlishly at the contact. Claire thanks whichever god happens to be listening when he follows her to the stairs. Words bubble out of her - nonsensical, disconnected, but it’s enough to distract him. He leans heavily against her once she loops her other arm under his armpits, and they take the steps slowly, carefully. Claire has to forcibly remind herself that he’s her boss, even as she revels in the solidity of his body against hers, even as he stares at her the entire time.

He lets his body fall onto the bed, and his eyes flutter closed as his body relaxes into the mattress. She hesitates then starts pulling back the covers, pushing at him to move him out of the way. Her heart thunders in her chest as she tucks the comforter up around his chin. His breathing evens out after a moment, and Claire exhales slowly and turns to the door.

“Stay. Please.”

The whisper, slurred and so broken, brings her to an abrupt stop, and she looks back over her shoulder. Weak moonlight plays over his face, turning his blue eyes nearly white in the glow, and the expression on his face causes her throat to tighten and stomach to clench. She nods shakily and makes her way back to the bed. Sitting on the edge, she lets out a heavy breath then pushes her fingers gently through his hair. She keeps the movements slow, rhythmic, and his lips curl at the corners into a thankful smile. He falls asleep rather quickly, but she doesn’t move for a long moment even after he starts snoring softly.

This is a side to him that no one warned her about. She wonders idly if Abby ever had to deal with this and, if not, then why is Claire experiencing the drunken and emotional Niall? With a soft sigh, she cards her fingers through his hair once more, whispers a soft goodnight, then crosses the room to the bathroom. After retrieving his phone from her bra, she dampens a washcloth and wipes the device down. There’s a bottle of ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet, so she pours two into her hand as quietly as she can then fills the glass by the sink with water. After she sets them on the bedside table, she stares down at Niall, watches as he sleeps on.

It’s almost two in the morning by the time she exits his bedroom, carefully pulling the door closed behind her, and a yawn forces itself from her. Niall and Abby both said the guest room would be hers whenever she had to stay over, and if this isn’t a reason to stay over, then what is? Claire pads on silent feet across the hall and slips into the room. She sets an alarm for six o’clock then sprawls out on the bed. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep.

Mully glances over his shoulder from where he’s about to enter his bedroom when she steps out into the hallway the next morning, and she forces a smile. Her eyes burn with exhaustion, and she knows she looks like an utter mess, but he doesn’t say anything. She clears her throat quietly and asks that he pass the message on that she’s gone home and that she’ll see Niall bright and early Monday morning. Mully nods, tells her to drive safely.

The morning air is brisk and cool against her bare skin, and she shivers slightly as she runs to her car. Driving home takes all of her concentration, and even then, she still finds herself losing focus repeatedly. It’s a wonder she doesn’t get into a wreck, but eventually, she pulls into the parking garage for the apartment building. Her nose wrinkles at the scent of motor oil, body odour, and piss that seems to get worse with each passing day, and she quickens her pace to get to the fresh air that waits just outside.

She whines aloud at the insistent buzzing, smacking at the nightstand until her fingers wrap around her phone. Barely opening her eyes enough to accept the call, she brings the phone to her ear and snaps, “What?”

“Claire?”

“Yes?”

“Did I wake you?”

“No, Niall. I’m just always this grumpy. What’s up?”

“I, er, I just wanted to call and apologise for calling so late last night. I honestly don’t remember doing it, but my phone says I did. So I want to say I’m sorry for waking you in the middle of the night. I hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing,” he says with a sheepish chuckle.

Suddenly, Claire is wide awake, and she bolts upright when the realisation hits: Niall doesn’t remember her coming over. Mully never told him she was there or that she is the one who got him into bed. She can’t put a name to the heavy, murky, intangible weight that takes residence in her gut. She swallows the lump from her throat.

“Don’t worry, you’ll never know if you did. I think I’ll take that secret to my grave.” The joke feels wrong on her tongue, but it makes Niall laugh, so she considers it a win. “Seriously, though, it’s okay. It’s literally my job to answer when you call.”

His voice is flat, emotionless, when he speaks after a pregnant pause. “Yeah, guess it is. Sorry again. You can come in a bit later tomorrow, as a way of me making it up to you. Have a good day, Claire.”

“Niall -”

But he’s already hung up. Claire stares at the screen of her phone, but it gives no answers. She tosses the device back onto the nightstand and lies back down. She knows she won’t get any more sleep, though, so she stares at the ceiling and wonders what exactly is going on. Shaking her head, she tells herself firmly that whatever Niall’s problem is, it’s his to deal with unless he says otherwise.

Niall stares at her, surprise written all over his face, when she walks into the kitchen at the same time as usual on Monday morning. She passes over the coffee she bought for him on her way, glad that she made that choice. Dark smudges spread in semi-circles under his eyes, and his hair is in disarray - completely at odds with how he usually looks when she arrives in the mornings. He thanks her quietly, sips at the drink, and Claire settles into a chair at the table. She considers asking Niall if he’s okay, but she doesn’t want to dredge up the awkwardness.

As the hours pass with no acknowledgement of what occurred Saturday night, Claire slowly relaxes. She does, however, continuously land on the question of _How did Mully explain the ibuprofen on the nightstand if he didn’t tell Niall I was here?_ She bites back the words. It just doesn’t seem like the right choice, especially not when things are getting back to normal.


	8. eight.

Claire sighs and re-reads the email she’s been working on for twenty minutes. It’s _hard_, she thinks, to tell someone fuck off in a polite manner without severing the connection between the company and her boss. But really? Demanding more and more rescheduling because the dude can’t even show up to the first planned meeting on time? It’s ridiculous. Deciding the message is fine the way it is, she presses the send button, crosses off another thing on her to-do list, and scrubs a hand over her face.

It’s been a week since the night he called her to his house and she found him drunk, angry, and inexplicably hurt. They’ve not spoken of the incident at all, and Claire feels like they really should have before now. She isn’t going to bring it up, though; she knows that if she were in his shoes and someone tried to talk about her being drunk enough that she forgets being taken care of by her employee… she would probably never get over that mortification. She sighs and thumbs out a text to Deirdre, telling her she needs “SIL Time”.

Claire jumps, bites back a squeak, when the sound of someone hammering on the front door echoes through the quiet house. Niall doesn’t come downstairs, which means he hasn’t heard the knocking, so she climbs to her feet and heads toward the entryway with a racing heart. She barely gets the door pulled open before she’s got an armful of toddler, and someone is speeding past her; if this were a cartoon, she’d be spinning in place from the way he’s rushed by her.

“Have to piss, love, I’ll be right back!”

“My duties don’t include babysitting!” she calls after the figure who’s barrelled past her, but all she gets in response is the slamming of the bathroom door.

She blinks owlishly down at the child, and he stares up at her with wide eyes. His fingers come up to shove into his mouth. Claire can’t help but smile at how startled he looks at suddenly being shoved into the arms of a stranger. With a soft sigh, she carries him around the living room, stopping when he points to various things. She keeps her grip gentle as he reaches out to touch the poster on the wall. He pouts but doesn’t fuss, so Claire is going to count it as a victory - Paul would have thrown an enormous fit about being prevented from putting his hands on whatever caught his attention.

“Please don’t let - oh. You’re not.”

Claire turns to see Niall standing on the bottom step, his finger scratching at his eyebrow. “I do know how to handle kids, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she assures him, shrugging. “So, uh, do I get a raise? I mean, new duties means new pay rate, right?”

He barks out a laugh and holds out his hands, but the kid tightens his hold on the shoulder of Claire’s blouse, shaking his head. Niall’s head cocks to the side, opens his mouth to speak. The reappearance of the toddler’s father interrupts whatever he’s about to say, though, so Niall merely smiles. Claire blinks back to reality after a second, sucks her lower lip between her teeth, and turns away, scolding herself for getting distracted - again - by her boss.

“Ah, sorry ’bout that.”

“No worries, I guess, though I feel it prudent to inform you I charge a grand per hour of babysitting.”

The man’s crystal-blue eyes widen, and Claire has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to not burst out into laughter. She passes the child over and heads back to the kitchen; she can hear Niall explaining that she’s only joking, she isn’t going to make him pay fifty dollars for three minutes of watching Freddie. Once she’s sat in the chair at the table, she logs into the email account on the laptop and scrolls through the dozens of new emails that have come in within the last few minutes. This is her least favourite part of the job: Having to sift through so many messages, a majority of which are spam and come in massive waves, and prioritise which are most important. Most of the senders think they’re more deserving of attention than the others, which is just ridiculous.

“You look irritated,” Niall comments as he passes through the kitchen to the deck outside.

Claire blows out a breath sharply, muttering, “Yeah, well, impatient assholes exist, don’t they.”

“Oh, Lou, this is Claire. Claire, Louis. You’ve met his son Freddie already.”

Claire waves vaguely in Louis’s direction. She’d feel more guilty about the lack of attention she’s showing, but another email has just come in. And this one is _actually_ important. She flips through the pages of her planner even as she clicks on the icon for the electronic scheduler. Niall still occasionally questions her about the use of two different calendars for the same thing when he sees her using both; it works, though. She double-checks the date requested then glances up, catching her boss’s eye. He cocks his head to the side.

She raises her voice a bit so he can hear her over the distance. “Uh, Modest! wants you to come in start of next week sometime, said they have something they wanna discuss about the album. Tuesday work for you?”

“You have my schedule.”

“Didn’t know if you had plans that I wasn’t aware of, sheesh. Okay, confirmation for Tuesday sent, getting the flight booked now.”

Once that’s done, she leans back in her chair and sighs, stretching out her muscles. Her skin itches with the weight of someone’s gaze, but when she looks away from the laptop’s screen, Louis and Niall are deep in conversation while Freddie plays with toys by their feet. She pushes herself to stand, crosses the room to stand in the doorway.

“Hey, anybody want a drink?”

“Come, sit, join us.”

Claire gives Louis a small smile and shakes her head. “No, thanks. Got a few things I need to do today. You guys enjoy whatever you’re doing. Drinks?”

“I’ll take some water, if you don’t mind.”

“Would I ask if I minded?”

Louis laughs softly, shrugs, and Claire heads back into the kitchen to fill two glasses with ice water. She hands them off then goes back to the table. Though she tries to focus on making sure the calendars are up to date and the number of unread emails is low, she finds her attention continuously dragged back to the men sitting outside. She has to admit that Louis is attractive enough, but her gaze keeps landing on her boss.

Thankfully, it has gotten easier to pretend there aren’t any feelings that fight to make themselves known, so Claire hasn’t had to worry about making herself into a fool. Her nights are too short, with lying awake until the wee hours of the morning and letting her mind wander while her roommates play video games in the living room then having to wake up at six every morning. Weekends, on the other hand, have been excruciatingly long. Having nothing to do and too much time to think makes the days drag on.

A hand slips between the tabletop and her forehead, and she stops banging her head downward. Niall’s other hand rubs at her shoulders comfortingly. Claire turns her head enough to look at him from the corner of her eyes, and the amusement on his face makes her stick her tongue out at him. She sighs, tells him about the interview that the journalist just _has_ to have done tomorrow. He frowns.

“Are you okay?”

“Tired, but yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’ve looked… exhausted since the day Louis and Freddie were here.”

“I’m okay, Niall. I promise.”

Niall doesn’t look convinced, but he lets the subject drop anyway. Instead, he pulls his hands back toward himself then sits in the chair next to her. His face grows serious as he settles into his seat, asks her what she thinks him going into the studio will require of her. She isn’t quite sure, and she tells him so. He nods in response. Claire is unsurprised when he informs her that she will have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before she can go into the building - she fully expected it. There’s an expression on his face that she isn’t used to seeing, and she cocks her head.

“Are you worried that I’m going to blab about the songs you make?”

His mouth drops open, then he lets out a sheepish chuckle and shrugs. “A little bit. It’s always a worry for a musician.”

“Well, don’t fret. I don’t even like your music, so I think you’re safe,” she says, raising a brow as he scoffs. “What?”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that at all.”

“Why’s that?”

Niall doesn’t respond, reaching for his phone and tapping at the screen. Claire stares at him, her brows drawing together when he sits back in his chair, still without word. A soft buzzing sounds, then the chorus of _Too Much to Ask_ fills the air. Her jaw drops, and she fumbles for her personal phone, declining the call. Niall grins smugly at her.

“That wasn’t your song. Not at all.”

“Right. Absolutely not.”

Claire swats at his arm, laughing nonetheless. She isn’t sure when he got her personal phone number - he’s always called or texted the work phone - but she doesn’t question it. Niall turns his gaze from the darkened backyard; she tries to read whatever his eyes are saying, but she has no clue where to even start. His mouth twitches, lips quirking, and he taps his knuckles against the tabletop.

“It’s getting late. You should head home.”

She frowns and glances at the screen of her phone. She hadn’t realised so much time has gone by and it’s now half nine. Nodding, she packs away the laptop and work phone into the messenger bag and rises to her feet. Niall walks with her to the front door; he stands there even after she’s closed the gate behind her, and she bites down on her lower lip before waving goodnight. His hand lifts into the air then drops back to his side. The door closes on the light from inside the house, and Claire slowly drives away.

Claire lines up the shot, pressing the button, and takes another three photos just to be sure she got a good picture. Niall doesn’t look away from what he’s doing, but she knew he wouldn’t before she even took the photo. Since they arrived in the studio this morning, he has been lost in his own world, only looking to her when he needs something. She’s honestly sick of refilling his water bottle, but it’s part of her job duties, so she forces down the complaints.

It’s fun, really, to watch him do his job. Claire has done basically nothing except sitting off to the side, staying out of everyone’s way; she’s even been allowed to text her brother and Deirdre, but she hasn’t sent very many. She doesn’t want to make Niall or his crew worry about whether or not she is spilling details about the recordings. The desire to reassure him means she doesn’t even mind that someone looks over her shoulder and reads the messages before she sends them off; they pretend they aren’t, but she isn’t going to mention it.

Niall warned her this morning before they left the house that being in the studio means longer days than usual, so she should prepare for not seeing her bedroom nearly as often as before. She can’t find anything wrong with that statement, to be honest. Being away from her roommates can only be a good thing. Matt on his own is great - she’s always had a decent friendship with him, even way back when they ran in different social circles in high school - but whenever Duke, Flop, or Chuck, or all three, are added to the mix, Claire repeatedly asks herself why she’s still putting up with their behaviours.

She settles into the chair and ignores when her phone vibrates again. Niall is back in the recording booth, working through the next song, and his voice is captivating enough that she doesn’t give a damn what her brother has said.

“I really appreciate this,” says Louis as he hands her the diaper bag. “I cannot thank you enough.”

Claire shrugs, smiles down at Freddie before meeting Louis’s eyes. “No worries. It’s not like I had much on my schedule for today anyway. Niall’s got himself locked upstairs since he’s taking a break from recording, so all I have to do is make sure he isn’t, y’know, starving or dehydrated or being bothered by phone calls. Freddie here will be a wonderful distraction.”

“Well, thank you. This is for you.”

“What the Hell is this?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s money, love.”

“Why?”

“You’re babysitting my son. The least I can do is pay you for it.”

“Dude!” She laughs and pushes the money back to Louis. “I was joking when I said I charged. Unless you’re my brother. Then it’s triple my rates. But nah, it’s okay. Freddie is a wonderful kid from what I’ve seen of him so far, so I’m happy to do this without any payment. Now go or you’ll be late to your interview.”

Niall comes down the stairs an hour and a half later, laptop tucked under his arm. His frustrated expression fades when he sees the child playing in the centre of the living room; Freddie grins up at Niall and slams two cars together. Claire decides that she’s had enough of staring at the email inbox and sits down on the floor next to the kid. She picks up a bright red Matchbox car and moves it along the floor. Her skin burns with the feeling of being watched as she plays with Freddie and replies to emails and text messages with one hand, but every time she looks up, Niall is sat on the sofa with his earbuds firmly in place, focused intently on his computer. She suppresses a shiver and forces herself to concentrate on entertaining Freddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. as we all know, niall dropped his new song and omg i died. i'm dead. it killed me. please ensure that my gravemarker says that niall james horan is the reason i am deceased because omgggg. it's wonderful. [yes, this means that this chapter is being posted from the afterlife. it's quite boring here, really xD]


	9. nine.

It is unacceptable how cold the conference room is. Sleek lines meet her eye everywhere she looks, and the enormous glass table stretches out between Claire and Niall and the small group of executives they’re meeting with today. She suppresses a shiver and subtly tugs her blazer tighter around her, though it does no good in warming her up. She’s well aware that it’s summertime, and the temperature outside is in the nineties, but that’s no excuse for having the air con on to the point that the room feels like the Arctic.

One of the execs lets out a booming laugh, and Claire grits her teeth, forcing herself to remain quiet. They’ve only been in this damn meeting for less than half an hour, and she’s already so ready to be gone. Niall’s chuckle sounds fake, even to her ears; she wonders how the execs can’t hear the lack of genuine humour. Another of the big-wigs cracks one more crude joke, and Claire hates it, she hates that she can’t bite back the words any more.

“I’m - no, I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry at all, and I won’t lie and say I am. Your jokes? They’re highly inappropriate. They’re making anyone with even the slightest grain of decency very uncomfortable. You are all supposed to be setting an example for how your employees are expected to behave, yet you’re acting… Quite frankly, you’re acting like I’d expect frat boys in college to act at a kegger. So if you could please show a higher level of professionalism, I’m sure everyone here would appreciate it.”

Her breathing is heavy, ragged, by the time she finishes, and her anger grows when two of the executives exchange looks, rolling their eyes. Only the one closest to her seems to care; he catches sight of the recording app on the phone still going, blanching as his skin goes blotchy and pale. He clears his throat, leans over to whisper to his colleagues. Claire is flooded with a vicious sense of pride at the way they all squirm in their seats. The assistant in the corner catches her eye behind the mens’ backs, flashes her a look of gratitude as she stifles her giggles.

Twenty minutes later, Claire and Niall are ushered from the conference room. Claire’s outburst had seemed to spur the men into rushing through everything they needed to discuss, and they seemed surprisingly ready to agree to anything. Now that her anger has subsided, her skin is hot and prickling with her mortification. She waits until the elevator doors slide closed before turning to Niall.

“I’m sorry.”

His lips pull down at the corners, and Claire brushes off the urge to kiss away his frown. “Why are you sorry?”

“For _that_,” she answers, gesturing toward the doors even though they’re now two levels down from where they were. “I mean, that’s probably gonna make your business relationship with them at least a little strained and difficult.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Niall...”

“Seriously, Claire, it’s okay. Look, they needed to be made aware of how uncomfortable they were making everyone. You did the right thing. My only regret is that I didn’t say anything sooner.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I... I didn’t realise it was that awful. I mean, I know men tend to not consider women’s feelings towards thing, especially when it’s a man in power with a woman in a so-called ‘lowly’ position, but I guess I didn’t find anything he was saying out of the ordinary.” Niall presses the button to keep the doors closed after the lift jolts to a stop, and Claire raises a brow. He doesn’t notice. “I can usually tune them out, y’know? Do what I need to do to keep things going. But then I saw his assistant’s face after you said something, and it made me think: If he’s that openly crass in a meeting, what’s he like behind closed doors?”

“So... I’m not fired then?” Claire asks hesitantly, bringing her shoulders up around her ears in what she hopes is a successful attempt at looking innocent; a pleasant warmth spreads over her when Niall laughs.

“Trust me, if you were fired, you’d know it.”

The work phone buzzes in her hands, and she glances down to see a notification of a new email. Niall’s hand is gentle on her arm as he guides her from the elevator, and she murmurs a thanks even as she skims over the message. It’s from the assistant they’ve just left, bearing only her name and a number and the line _If you ever need to complain about your boss_. Claire snorts out a laugh but saves the phone number in her personal phone and starts typing out a new text.

“Watch it,” Niall warns lowly in her ear, tugs her to the left a little, and Claire looks up in time for a man in a sharp suit to brush past her. “Maybe you should do that in the car.”

“You might be right.”

It isn’t a surprise that Niall immediately flops down onto the couch once they reach the hotel they’re staying at; Claire sets about making a cup of tea for her and refilling his bottle of water. He gestures vaguely when she sets the bottle down on the coffee-table, but she is savvy enough in Niallese to be able to decipher it as “Golly gee, thanks, Claire, you’re an amazing PA, what would I ever do without you?” Or maybe that’s just Tim’s influence on her inner thoughts.

She curls up in the armchair and digs out her phone to finish the text to Tina.

  
**Claire says:** Sorry if my outburst makes your job difficult! Your bosses just pissed me off.  
**Claire says:** It's Claire, btw  
  
**Tina says:** Noooo do not apologize to me. Trust me it’s worth it to remember how stunned they looked lol! Hope your boss is better  
  
**Claire says:** He’s alright, I guess d:  
  
**Tina says:** Good. But yeah I thought I’d give you my number in case you ever needed someone to commiserate with you about how annoying and awful bosses can be  
  
**Claire says:** I appreciate it (: I’m always available if you need to vent, too. Who else is gonna understand more than another PA??  


Niall’s soft snores fill the room moments later, and Claire rolls her eyes. His meeting with Modest! is supposed to start in less than an hour, so why he’s decided to nap is beyond her. She double-checks the time then shakes her head. He grumbles when she calls his name, but his eyes don’t open, so she pushes herself to her feet and steps closely enough that she can nudge him. He swats at her in his sleep, rolling over to face away from her. She shakes his shoulder harder.

“Niall James Horan, wake up. We don’t have time for this.”

He groans and scrubs at his face with one hand. His voice is slurred with the remnants of his sleep as he asks, “Did you just use my middle name?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. Now come on. You need to eat something, then we have to get to the meeting.”

He stares up at her, an unreadable expression on his face, and Claire worries about what he might say. He doesn’t speak, however, just nods slowly and stands. She looks away as he stretches his arms over his head, the rippling of his muscles enough to make her a little weak in the knees. Her skin feels tight, and she clears her throat awkwardly as she heads to the kitchenette for rinse out her mug.

The next few days are a blur; between bouncing from meetings to interviews to photoshoots, Claire’s head is spinning, and she’s ready for a break. Niall, thankfully, has the same idea. They spend the evening in the last hotel, doing nothing but listening to music and texting and not talking. It’s a comfortable silence between them, one that Claire is unwilling to break with idle, awkward chitchat. Their flight back to LA isn’t until noon tomorrow, so the pair is making the most of the lazy hours before they have to be on the move again.

Deirdre opens the door a few minutes after Claire’s knocked; her sister-in-law’s hair sticks up in wild loose strands from the messy bun she’s pulled it back in, and deep bruise-black smudges circle under her eyes. Claire instinctively reaches for the toddler on her hip. Paul doesn’t fuss even as he’s passed from mother to aunt, and Dee gives Claire a thankful smile.

“You’re a lifesaver. Minnie brought home a cold from preschool, which means it’s only a matter of time before Paulie and I get it, too. Don’t worry, your brother is quarantined until further notice.”

“Mamaaaaaa.”

“I’m coming, sweetheart. I had to let Aunt Claire in.”

“What do you need me to do?” Claire asks, hefting Paul up more securely in her arms, and Deirdre shrugs.

“Make the other parents learn to keep their crotch goblins home when they’re sick?”

“I really don’t think I can go beat up your daughter’s classmates’ parents, babe. Sorry.”

“Fine. Can you at least bathe your nephew? My mom’s on her way to take him until this virus is out of the house.”

“Of course I can do that, can’t I, munchkin?”

Paul scrunches up his face in a wide grin, and Claire blows a raspberry against his cheek before setting off for the stairs. She sings quietly to Paul as she carefully rinses the shampoo from his hair, and he slaps his hands against the surface of the water, squeals when his sailboat and unicorn figurine bob up and down with the waves. He does it again, causing the bath water to splash back up into his face. Claire shakes her head affectionately, reaches for the towel to wipe the droplets off her cheeks, and readies the shower poof to scrub his little body.

Once he’s sufficiently cleaned, Claire sits on the closed toilet lid and lets him play for a few minutes. His screeches and laughter reverberate off the walls, echo in the room, but Claire doesn’t bother shushing him. She knows he’s probably feeling a bit neglected while his father and sister are sick. Deirdre is a wonderful mother, but she’s only one person taking care of three people. Claire just wishes she’d known that Tim and Minnie were under the weather; she may not have been in the state when they first fell ill, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have tried to catch an earlier flight back to help Dee.

The doorbell rings downstairs, and Claire grabs the towel. “Okay, Paulie, you ready to go to your NanNan’s?”

“I p’ay!”

“You can play at NanNan’s.”

Paul squirms in her hands as she lifts him from the bathtub, and she nearly drops him a couple of times before she gets his feet steadily on the mat. He pouts but lets his aunt dry him and dress him in the outfit that sits on the counter. Claire brushes his hair to make it lie flat against his scalp.

“Y’know, you keep making that face at me, it’s gonna get stuck like that, and then we’ll have to sell you to a museum as a work of art.”

“No! No sell!”

He’s still shouting “No sell! No sell!” by the time Claire reaches the bottom step, and Deirdre and her mother stop talking. Claire shrugs awkwardly and sets her nephew on the floor; he instantly toddles across the room to bury his face against his mom’s leg, and Deirdre’s brows raise.

“Are you threatening to sell my child?”

Claire starts to deny it, but she can’t without lying.So she merely gives her sister-in-law a bright grin. “He was mean-muggin’ me, what was I supposed to do?”

“Stop threatening to sell the child,” Ariel lovingly scolds before holding her arms out toward Claire, who steps forwards and accepts the embrace willingly. “You look wonderful, honey.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what happens when I’m not stuck with Dee all the time.”

Deirdre gasps and claps a hand to her chest. “Rude! I’m telling your brother you’re being rude!”

“Then I won’t ever babysit again.”

“I’m not telling your brother you’re being rude.”

Ariel ignores the two bickering women and scoops Paul into her arms, carries him into the entryway. The diaper bag is already sitting by the front door, and Claire watches as Deirdre walks with her mother and son outside. The door closes behind them with a quiet sound; it’s quiet in the house now, and Claire doesn’t like it. She’s too accustomed to noise - at her apartment, there’s never a silent moment, and even when she’s at work, she’s surrounded by music or people talking. She shuffles awkwardly to the kitchen sink.

“Why are you doing my dishes?”

“Because you need to rest.”

“Belle, I don’t need you to do my dishes.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to win, am I?”

“Nope. Now shut the Hell up and go sit down. Relax. You know your daughter or husband is going to want _something_ from you within the next thirty seconds.”

“I hate you,” sighs Deirdre as Tim calls for her hoarsely from the bedroom before Claire’s even finished speaking.


	10. ten.

Claire wants to spend the night at her brother’s to help Deirdre out with taking care of Tim and Minnie, but she knows she is already risking catching whatever bug they have. So as soon as she finishes washing and putting away the dishes, she reluctantly leaves and heads back to her apartment.

Chuck lets out a raucous cheer when she steps through the door, and Claire stops instantly in place, staring around at the unfamiliar people milling about in the flat. The walls vibrate with the force of the bass that comes through the speakers, and the air is thick with smoke and the odour of beer and whisky. It is barely even seven in the evening, and everyone is already drunk and-or stoned. She sighs heavily, pushes through and steps over the party-goers. Thankfully, her bedroom is empty, and she shuts the door, locking it quickly behind her.

Within the hour, her head is pounding in time to the music, and Claire is on the verge of throwing up from the pressure in her skull. She tugs her pillow over her head to block out the orange glow coming through the windows from the street-lamps, but it does nothing to help. The intensity and rapid onset of the migraine warns her that she is going to be in for a rough night, that this one is going to be worse than any she has ever had before. A sharp spike of pain rips through her at the bright light of her phone screen, and she grits her teeth as she types out a quick text message with her eyes half-closed.

  
**Claire says:** I normally woulntd do tus but dou mind if ibcome over nd stay there fro tongit?  
  
**Niall says:** Are you drunk ?? I don’t think you should drive if you’ve been drinking . . .  
  
**Claire says:** Nt drink   
**Claire says:** You dont have to say yes if yiu don’t want me there  
  
**Niall says:** It’s okay . I’ll leave the door unlocked.  


Claire gasps quietly as the agony in her brain swells, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, and it takes far too much effort to clamber to her feet. She stumbles to the dresser, fumbles for her purse and work bag, then rests her forehead against the cool plaster of the wall. The world spins wildly around her, causing her stomach to give a violent jerk. Her vision blurs, and she has to try for the doorknob five times before her hand wraps securely around it, twisting it and yanking the door open.

Normally, Claire would have a problem with leaving her room unlocked while she isn’t there, but between the migraine and nausea, she can’t find it in her to give a damn right now. Besides, Matt can be trusted to keep people out of there - as long as she tells him she’s leaving _before_ he gets too inebriated. His eyes are thankfully clear when she catches his attention, and he extricates himself from the middle of the group on the couch. His brows pull tightly together as he stares at her.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I got called into work, so I won’t be here tonight. Please make sure no one goes in my room?”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem. Are you sure you’re all right, Claire? You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“I am.”

She nearly trips over her own feet in her rush to the kitchen, and Matt gags behind her but dutifully holds back her hair while she vomits into the sink. He shouts something to someone in the other room, and by the time Claire no longer feels like her intestines are trying to escape through her mouth, her bottle of mouthwash sits on the counter. She spits out the remnants of bile and spit in her mouth then untwists the cap. Her head pounds in time with her heartbeat, her skin tight and clammy; she sniffs back the tears that have formed in her eyes from the force of her throwing up, wipes the back of her hand over her mouth.

“You can’t drive like this,” Matt says softly, his hand rubbing circles into her shoulders, and she shrugs him off.

“I’m gonna call an Uber. Can you wait with me?”

“Hell yeah.”

Matt waits for her to push her feet into her flats then hooks an arm around her shoulders, steering her out of the apartment. He doesn’t appear bothered by the straps of a messenger bag and Claire’s purse hanging from his shoulder. The bass can be heard clearly even on the landing for the floor below them. She rolls her eyes and instantly regrets it when it exacerbates the pain in her head. His grip tightens on her, and he tugs her upright as she misses a step.

Once out on the front stoop, Matt helps her to sit. She sighs heavily, closing her eyes, and he takes her phone from her, grabs her hand to press her thumb to the sensor, and pulls her into his side as they sit there. His hand is cool when he places it over her eyes, blocking out the glare from the streetlights. Claire makes a mental note to thank Matt for being so wonderful - they were friendly enough towards each other in high school but not the best of friends, and they still aren’t now, and it means the world to her that he’s taking the time away from his party to make sure she’s safe. She’s never doubted that he’s a genuinely good person, his love for being in the state of perpetually high aside, but it still causes a pleasant warmth to bloom in her chest.

He guides her to the car, passes over her bags, and ducks down to meet her eye after she’s buckled in. “Let me know when you make it, okay?”

Claire nods and waits for him to shut the door before leaning her head against the window. The driver gives her an apprehensive look but pulls away from the curb. Her phone vibrates in her hand, and she peels her eyes open enough to read the text asking if she’s on her way. She sends back a thumbs-up and locks the screen, sighs blissfully at the lack of light shining in her face.

True to his word, Niall’s front door is unlocked by the time Claire makes her way shakily up the walk; the television goes silent as the door clicks shut behind her. She toes off her flats, leaning against the door, and slides until she’s sat on the floor; her eyes close of their own accord. Footsteps near, but she doesn’t bother opening her eyes. The scent that fills her nose is familiar enough that she doesn’t need to look to know that Niall is crouched in front of her. A soft laugh and an Irish accent saying sorry meets her ears when she startles, not expecting the fingers that push her hair from her face. He flashes her an apologetic look once she meets his gaze.

“Are you okay?”

“Migraine,” she manages to whisper, all of the sudden feeling foolish for intruding; she should have just stayed home and tried to sleep it off. “I’m… I’m sorry for coming. I just…”

“Don’t worry about it. C’mon, let’s get you off the floor.”

He helps her to her feet, his movements slow and careful, but it doesn’t help: her balance is nonexistent, and she nearly collapses back to the cold wood flooring. His arms are the only reason she stays even halfway on her feet. She whimpers as he calls out for Mully, the sound loud in her ears, and he murmurs out an apology, pulls her against his chest. She presses her face into his shoulder and stifles the sob that rises in her chest. His voice rumbles deep in his chest, and his hand comes up to rest on the back of her head. Tears slip from her eyes at the comfort; the embarrassment fades abruptly, leaving her feeling nothing but the security he offers.

Somehow, they manage to get up the stairs without any issues, Mully trailing after them just in case. Niall keeps hold of her as she sits down on the guest bedroom, and Claire can’t help but wonder why he’s being so damn kind to her. She doesn’t voice the question, though, just takes the glass of water and ibuprofen he hands her. She knows the medicine most likely won’t work - it never does - but the thought is appreciated nonetheless. He helps her to lie down once she’s swallowed down the pills; her breath comes out in a shaky exhale as he tucks her into the bed.

The silence of the house is a blissful, soothing thing, and Claire finds herself relaxing almost instantly. The pain is there, the persistent stabbing behind her eyes and the vice-like pressure, but it’s easier to breathe now. She watches Niall through her lashes, confused when he perches on the edge of the bed. His lips quirk unabashedly into a smile after he catches her staring.

“Just want to make sure you’re all right,” he whispers before hesitating, patting her arm gently. “Get some rest, love.”


	11. eleven.

Claire still feels like warmed-over death when she wakes the next morning, and as much as she wants to lie in bed all day, she knows she has a job to do. She sighs, rolls over onto her back, and groans when her head spins with the movement. A soft knock sounds at the door; she manages to rasp out a _Yeah?_, and Niall’s head pokes into the room.

“Hey, how are you feeling today?”

She considers lying to him, telling him that she’s all better, but she can’t. “Awful, honestly. Not as bad as last night, but… still shit.”

“I’m sorry. Mind if I come in?”

She shrugs, pushing herself to sit up though it makes her want to puke. Niall steps through the door, closes it behind him with his foot. In one hand is a tray, a mug in the other. He sets the tray on the bed next to her, and she stares down at the toast and bacon on the plate. She blinks owlishly then turns her gaze to him. He smiles softly, handing over the mug, and Claire feels like bursting into tears. Her fingers shake as she wraps them around the ceramic, heat instantly leeching into her skin, and she sips carefully at the coffee he’s brought her. It’s sharp and rich on her tongue, the bitterness hidden by the way it scalds her mouth.

“I couldn’t remember how you liked it,” he says in lieu of apology, but the shrug he gives is good enough.

“It’s okay. This… I appreciate this.”

“Do you get migraines a lot?”

Claire swallows another mouthful of coffee before stretching to put the mug on the nightstand. Niall nudges the plate closer to her, and she huffs out a laugh but picks up a strip of bacon. “I used to get them more often, but I thought I’d grown out of them since I haven’t had one in a few months.”

He nods slowly, and Claire nibbles at the edges of the bacon. She wants to squirm as she eats, but the pounding in her head tells her it will be a terrible idea. Her stomach churns with each bite she takes; eating in front of Niall isn’t a new thing - they’ve shared plenty of meals during the time she’s worked for him - but it’s still an uncomfortable thing to eat when he isn’t, when he keeps giving her those worried looks.

“What time is it?” she asks suddenly, startling him, and he frowns but tells her it’s almost eight. “Are you serious? Fuck, why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

“Because you need the rest.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He rolls his eyes. “Claire, you showed up last night crying because you were in so much pain. You fell asleep almost as soon as you laid down. You just told me you’re still in pain. We don’t have anything today, so… I don’t want you doing anything but resting until you feel better.”

“Niall -”

“Nope. I’m your boss, you have to listen to me and do as I say.”

“That wasn’t in the contract.”

“I added it when you weren’t looking.”

She lets out a surprised laugh, shaking her head despite the pain of the migraine. His smile brightens his entire face, and she stares openly for a second. It really isn’t fair that he’s so attractive, she thinks. Him being good-looking on top of having a wonderful, charming, sweet personality makes it incredibly difficult to pretend that he doesn’t affect her. She rips her gaze away when he glances up at her, pretends she wasn’t being so shameless and creepy.

The pain Claire has been in disappears by the time she goes to sleep that night. She fell back asleep after Niall left the room to take the tray back to the kitchen, and he’d been upset when she appeared in the living room around eleven-thirty. She appeased him by lounging on the couch for the rest of the day, occasionally responding to text messages from her brother and Matt, who scolded her via text about not letting him know she made it to her boss’s safely last night. Guilt ate at her for a long time after that, but it was dislodged by her surprise when Niall left her alone in the house; she’s never been here without him, so the sudden lack of his presence was… disconcerting, to say the least. Thankfully, he came back within the hour carrying a McDonald’s bag in his hand.

Claire thinks she should have lied about whether her head still hurt or not as she’s crawling into the guest bed for the second night in a row. But she couldn’t not tell the truth when Niall was looking at her so intently. The words had just tumbled out of her without thought, without permission, and she wonders what it means that the subtle guilt-trip was so successful. All he’d said was that he didn’t feel right about her leaving while still in pain, and she was immediately accepting his suggestion of her staying again.

Their first fight as employer/employee occurs just a couple of weeks after the whole migraine incident. Claire is only at the grocery store because she’s grown tired of not having juice to drink while at his house; water is great and all, but sometimes, she just wants something sugary. She takes the receipt from the cashier with a smile and grabs up her bags full of juice, a bottle of Diet Coke, a tub of Oreo ice cream, and a package of the cookies themselves before making her way to the exit.

Her car is in sight, so close yet so far, when she is abruptly surrounded by a group of people. Claire loses track of how many cameras are shoved into her face as she walks, but she forces herself to not focus on that. Her heart races in her chest, and she struggles to breathe properly. Her skin feels overly-hot while she pushes through the crowd asking questions. Her thoughts jumble in her brain; she manages to catch one inquiry that doesn’t seem so bad.

“Ma’am, you work for Niall Horan, right? What’s he like as a boss?”

She grits her teeth and plasters on a fake smile. “He’s great, fair. The kind of boss you’d kill to have.”

“Is it true you’re sleeping with him?” another asks, and Claire nearly trips over her feet in her shock at the audacity of the question.

“The fuck, dude, he’s my boss! _No_!”

“Can you tell us anything about his album that he’s been working on?”

“No comment, which you already knew that.”

“Are you sure you’re not sleeping with him?”

“Do you do everything for him?”

“Is there _any_thing you can tell us about the music? His golf ventures? Anything?”

“Are you _sure_? After all, you’ve been spotted coming out of his house early in the morning a lot over the past few months, so excuse us for finding it hard to believe there’s nothing going on between the sheets!”

The man snickers at his own statement, but nobody else does. Claire exhales sharply, pivoting on her heel, and pins him with a dark, flat glare. His teeth clack together loudly as he stumbles to a stop. Her nails bite into her palm when she clenches her hands into fists at her side. She’s shaking, she knows she is, her anger is so close to the surface.

“I swear to everything you hold Holy in this world, if you ask me that one more goddamn time, I will make you eat that damn camera. Yes, I have to be at his house early in the morning because I am doing my job. Yes, I leave his house late at night because I am doing my job. Yes, sometimes, I have to sleep in his guest bedroom because I am doing my job. So yes, I am one hundred percent certain that I am not sleeping with Niall Horan. He is my boss. I am his employee. Nothing more, nothing less. Now, if you’ll kindly excuse me, I have a job to do that doesn’t require being asked crass, despicable questions like that from scum like you.”

She isn’t followed as she finally reaches her car. Her breaths are tremulous, and bile creeps up the back of her throat. She shoves the shopping bags into the backseat, slamming the door shut; how dare he imply there was more to her relationship with Niall than pure professionalism? Her brain whispers a fleeting, twisted hope that the asshole pap is behind her car as she reverses, but she blows out a breath and shakes it off. She doesn’t need to add vehicular homicide to the list of things she’s done wrong today.

Claire has never been more thankful for traffic than she is now. Though it means the ice cream is steadily melting in the bag, it also means that she has more time to calm down before reaching Niall’s house. The last thing she wants to do is bring that rage and disgust back with her. She waits until she’s had to come to a stop to scrub a hand over her face. This isn’t how she wanted the day to go.

Niall leans against the wall as soon as she walks in, and Claire knows he already knows about the blow-up. She breezes past him and sets about putting away the items she purchased, but he doesn’t let her ignore him for long. The instant she closes the refrigerator door, he beckons for her to follow him. She does. The barely-concealed anger on his face brooks no arguments, and she really does not want to make things worse. She collapses onto the far end of the couch, waits for him to speak. Instead, he passes over his laptop.

Claire clicks through the tabs, all of them containing articles about the incident. Most of the pieces are comprised of Tweets from fans who saw what happened, recognised her in the middle of the group, and overheard the conversation; photos and videos stare back at her, and she sighs as she reads the captions. She thanks the stars for small miracles when a majority of the reactions are positive and supportive of her, commending her on her poise in the face of such vile questioning.

“I get it,” Niall announces, and Claire drags her gaze away from the computer screen. He clasps his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees. “I do. I get it. His question was out of line. But Claire, you have to be more tactful when you respond. If you can’t do that, you need to stick with ‘No comment’.”

Claire hands him his laptop and shoves a hand through her hair. “I tried that. He asked the first time, I said no. He asked again, I said no. He asked a third time… That’s when I lost my temper. He couldn’t take my ‘no’ as an answer because what kind of fodder is no story. Do I regret snapping like that? No, I can’t say that I do.” Niall looks surprised at her candour, but she pushes on before he can speak. “It sucks, yes, that it’s going to reflect poorly on you, and I _am_ sorry about that. But I’m not going to let them insinuate that I only have my job because I’m fucking my boss. Because _that_? That reflects poorly on me, and it will destroy any chances I’ll ever have at getting a job if I decide this one isn’t working out. So, sorry but I’m not sorry for standing up for myself.”

The room is doused in silence once she finishes, and Claire tries to relax the tension in her bones that prepares her for having to get up and walk away. Niall doesn’t say anything for a long while. The lack of response is hard to handle; she has just accepted that this is a lost job when he exhales heavily.

“I’m being an ass about this, aren’t I?”

“Damn skippy you’re being an ass,” she replies immediately, causing him to chuckle quietly.

“Lazy afternoon?”

“Only if you don’t mind that you technically paid for the Oreo ice cream I bought for myself while I was at the store.”

“Only if you share.”

Claire stares at him with narrowed eyes, pretends to be deep in thought. “You’re lucky you’re adorable,” she finally says, “because it’s the only thing keeping me from calling you an ass.”

“You already said I was an ass.”

No, I said you were _being_ an ass. Now, shush, or I won’t share my ice cream.”

His laughter follows her into the kitchen, and she does a little happy jig once she’s sure she isn’t in his sights any more. She busies herself with scooping the frozen dessert into two bowls, though all she wants to do is grab a spoon and eat directly from the carton. After she’s cleaned up the mess, she carries the bowls into the living room, passes him his, and settles in on the couch to watch _Two and a Half Men_.

Niall brings up the watchlist when they’ve watched two episodes, and Claire almost chokes on her tongue when she sees the title for her favourite movie on the menu. Niall gives her a questioning look, and all she can do is point at the screen, squeaking out the name. She turns to him, jutting out her lower lip and widening her eyes in an attempt to pout adorably. She knows she’s failed - after all, she’s nowhere near as cute as Minnie or Paul - but Niall rolls his eyes and changes to the movie. Claire is inordinately thankful for the lack of commercials as she pays full attention to the barracuda chasing the Marlin the clownfish across the screen.


	12. twelve.

The air is filled with the singsong chirping of birds and the fluttering of wings as they occasionally take flight; cars pass by, the noise muffled by distance and trees and the water that covers her ears. Hot, bright rays of sun beat down on the city below, paint the back of Claire’s eyelids a muddy pink as she lays there. Her muscles relax even further, and she draws in a slow, steady breath and exhales just as evenly.

Niall has himself locked in the Mystery Room, as she’s come to call it. He’s in one of his moods, snapping and apologising in turns, so she has taken it upon herself not to interrupt him for anything short of a cataclysmic event. She tried watching TV or reading a book on her Kindle app, but the heat of the day and the pool water glinting in the sunshine had begged for her attention. She hadn’t even hesitated to change into her bikini and dive right in. If Niall needs her, he knows where to find her.

Claire lets herself sink below the surface of the water, blowing out through her nose as she does, and opens her eyes to stare up at the warped, shifting sun and sky overhead. The dark silhouette of a bird streaks across the wide expanse of blue. Chlorine burns at her eyes, but she doesn’t blink, doesn’t do anything but relish the calm and quiet and serenity that envelops her.

Eventually, her lungs begin screaming for oxygen, her vision goes blurry and dark at the edges. Claire shifts until her toes brush the bottom of the pool then pushes off. She gasps when her head breaks the surface, dragging in gulps of air. Her legs move instinctively to keep her floating, and she pushes her drenched hair back from her face. Sunlight glints off an upstairs window; her gaze flits to it without thought. She’s surprised to see Niall standing there, watching her.

He waves shortly when he catches her staring back, but before she can do anything but tilt her head in confusion, he disappears from sight. Something twists in her gut, something she can’t name, and she’s consumed by how naked she feels. Her skin heats up as she tries to decipher what she saw in his eyes, on his face. She sighs to herself and swims to the edge of the pool. The peacefulness of the morning is broken.

The thing is, she isn’t even upset that he was intruding like that - it’s his house, he can do what he wants. And, if she’s being honest, te thought that she had his attention felt… _nice_. Claire shivers though the air around her is warm. Wringing the excess water from her hair, she pads to the chair where she left the towel and dries off efficiently. She glances back at the window, but it’s empty still.

The house is quiet, her boss nowhere to be found as she makes her way up the stairs. She pauses in the hallway outside the guest room, stares at the door to the Mystery Room. It’s slightly ajar, a sliver of sunlight streaming through between the door and frame; dust motes swirl in the golden-yellow glow. Her brain whispers for her to leave it alone, but she can’t - she tiptoes quietly down the hall and peers through the crack. The soft strum of a guitar meets her ear, discordant and ugly but dripping with poignancy. Her chest tightens at the emotions that surge up in her.

Niall comes into view then, though he doesn’t look her way. His eyes are closed, lashes fanning across his cheekbones, as he ambles slowly across the room, fingers picking at the strings; his jaw clenches, throat working when he swallows. Claire has no hope of understanding what’s written in his expression. When he pivots on his heel, his eyes have opened, and she barely catches a glimpse of the blue before she’s scurrying back to the guest room. She’s just shut the door behind her when she hears a creaking noise that she takes to presume Niall is looking into the hallway. No footsteps near the room, though, so she’s pretty sure she hasn’t been found out.

Once she’s changed into dry clothes, Claire heads to the guest bathroom to hang her bikini over the edge of the bathtub to dry. She stops by the sink, stares at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, and she isn’t sure if the pinkness is from the sun, being watched, or almost being caught encroaching on Niall’s privacy like that. She exhales sharply and makes a vow not to do it again. Not only is satisfying her curiosity not worth losing this job, it isn’t worth losing his _trust_. She scrubs at her hair with the towel then drapes it on the bar, yanking her still-damp hair into a quick braid.

Her phone is on the counter where she left it before going for her swim. She grabs it on her way to the fridge; it’s almost noon, and she isn’t sure she can eat, but she knows Niall needs to. So she responds to Matt’s text asking if she knows where his bowl is (a definitive and concise _No_) and tells Tim that she’ll definitely be over to babysit this weekend barring any work emergencies, then sets about cobbling together an easy lunch.

  
**Claire says:** Lunch is ready. Come eat.  
  
**Niall says:** Not hungry at the moment  
  
**Claire says:** Well, as your PA, I guess do what you want. But as your friend, I say please come eat, you need the sustenance  
  
**Niall says:** I hardly think I'm going to starve by skipping one meal  
  
**Claire says:** Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaassssssssse come try to eat  
**Claire says:** For me????  
**Claire says:** The begging would work a lot better if you could see my pout, I swear  


He doesn’t reply to the text, but Claire hears his footsteps on the stairs a few minutes later. She pretends she hasn’t been waiting for him, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram while nibbling at the baby carrot she’s held since she sent the last message. He sighs heavily as he sits in the chair next to her, and she glances at him from the corner of her eye. He doesn’t look any happier since she saw him in the Mystery Room, but she resists the urge to comment on it.

“I wanna see the pout,” Niall announces suddenly, and Claire snorts and shakes her head. “No, no. I wanna see the pout that I missed, and then I’ll be the judge of whether it would have helped or hindered the begging.”

She giggles but does as requested - jutting her lower lip out, she stares at him with wide eyes and raised brows, brings her clasped hands up below her chin. His laughter lights up his face, takes away the drawn expression, and victory burns brightly in her chest. He hesitates then rests his hand on her shoulder. She cocks her head to the side, but he doesn’t say anything, just reaches for a sandwich from the plate.

“So would it have worked?”

He lifts a hand and makes a see-saw motion. “About eighty percent sure it would have helped, yeah.”

“Only eighty percent? C’mon, Horan, that was the best pout in my arsenal. I think it deserves better than a measly eighty percent.”

“Well, maybe you should work on improving the pout, and then the efficiency would improve, too.”

“You’re rude,” she says after a moment, shoving at his shoulder. “Why am I working for someone who’s so rude?”

“I have no idea.” He pretends to think then gives her an impish smile. “It’s my ass, isn’t it?”

“It’s gotta be, considering we’ve already determined it wasn’t the music.”

Claire still isn’t really hungry, but she doesn’t like being a hypocrite, so she manages to force down half a sandwich and a few baby carrots. Niall seems to be in a better mood now, and he cleans up once they’ve finished eating. She expects him to disappear back into the Mystery Room again, but he doesn’t, instead following her into the living room. An electric sensation thrums just under her skin, zipping through her nerve endings, and she wonders, not for the first time, why she ever thought it would be a good thing to fall for her boss.

Unfortunately, the pair are stuck together nonstop for the next month. That lazy day was the last one they have while Niall gets back into the studio, finishes up his golfing ventures, and gears up for promotional events. Claire does her best to keep up, to not get weighted down with the constant rapid-fire flitting from one place to another. Her brother, bless him for being so understanding, sends her memes to make her laugh and photos of the kids to lift her spirits, never getting upset when Claire doesn’t respond. She tries so hard to reply, but by the time she finally has a chance to breathe, it is right as she’s crawling into the bed of whatever hotel she and Niall are staying in, and she usually falls asleep the second her head hits the pillow.

She wakes every morning with the vestiges of dreams, fragments that send her head spinning and world askew. It grows much more difficult to fight the urge to kiss Niall or even to card her fingers through his hair; her heart begins to race any time he’s near, and just the slightest glance in her direction heats her from the inside out. The aching is hardest to ignore, especially in the few seconds of straddling the line that separates dreaming and waking, when she can feel the ghost of his hands trailing along her body, the searing kisses he presses to her skin, the ruthless and demanding way he captures her mouth with his, the fire between them burning her entire being down to ashes. Cold showers have become her best friend with the existence of the fantasies, and the nights have become her enemy, gives her time to wonder if Niall could ever feel for her what she feels for him.


	13. thirteen.

“I’m sorry, but all flights have been grounded, ma’am.”

Claire blows out her breath heavily, glancing over her shoulder. Niall stares down at his phone with a frown, and she knows he’s checking the forecast; she doesn’t know why since the staff in the airport already told them everything they can about the storm system that’s moved in. She turns back to the attendant and forces a smile. She asks about nearby hotels, and he shrugs in sympathy. The urge to smack him grows when he gives her another pitying look at her inquiry regarding rentals. Nodding, she grabs the tickets and voucher off the counter, pivots on her heel, and makes her way through the crowd of grumbling passengers. Niall locks his phone as she approaches.

“No flights out for the foreseeable future, and most - if not all - rentals have been booked.” She tucks the papers into her bag, pulls out her own phone. “I’m already looking for a hotel right now, and I’ll be contacting the credit card company to see about a refund for our tickets through the flight insurance as soon as I have a second to breathe so don’t try to boss me around.”

“But I _am_ your boss,” he responds with a laugh.

She rolls her eyes and taps on the number that comes up on Google’s search results. Niall chuckles, sitting down in a nearby chair; Claire bites her lip and paces as she waits for someone to answer the phone. When the line clicks and the woman on the other end gives the standard greeting, Claire turns away from her boss’s steady gaze and goes into what Tim likes to call her “customer service personality”.

“Hi, Lindsey, how are you this evening? Listen, we’re at JFK Airport, and our flight’s been cancelled because of the blizzard that’s heading this way. I was wondering if you perhaps had any rooms for the night? At this point, I’m not picky. It can be the worst room you have, and we’d take it.”

“Let me check that for you, ma’am. Okay, it looks like we’ve got one room left.”

“Oh, fantastic. Is there anyway you could hold the room until we get there?” Niall instantly stands, grabs their bags, when Claire snaps and points toward the exits, and they rush side-by-side through the busy airport. “We are literally on our way right now.”

When the woman speaks again, it’s in a low voice, hushed as if sharing a secret. “I’m not supposed to do this, but I can mark it as reserved for an hour. After that, if you haven’t arrived, I’ll have to give it away.”

“You’re so wonderful. We’ll be there as soon as possible. Thank you so much, Lindsey.”

Claire hangs up after giving Lindsey her name and one more fervent thank you and takes one of the bags from Niall. He somehow manages to push to the front of the throng, charms his way into taking a taxi from a disgruntled businessman, and she ducks into the backseat. Her knee bounces as the cabbie pulls out of the lane; she hopes they can make it in time. The fact that they got incredibly lucky doesn’t go unacknowledged - at least one thing tonight has gone right, unless they don’t get there before Lindsey has to give away the room.

They’re still a little over a block away by the time her internal timer says they only have ten minutes, and traffic is at a standstill in the blustering snow. Claire glances at her phone then up at Niall. He stares out the window, brows drawn low over his blue eyes. Her heart aches with how exhausted he is, how his hands have a minute tremble due to the stress and fatigue; he’s been on the move for the past couple of days, and the travelling hasn’t made anything easier. Thankfully, getting back home should help. Another minute ticks past.

“I’ll meet you there,” she announces suddenly, and Niall turns his head toward her.

But she’s already out of the cab, shutting the door on his protests. She doesn’t bothering saying an apology to her boss, the cabbie, or the driver of the car that nearly collides with her as she runs toward the sidewalk. It is utterly absurd, she think, that there are still people walking around in the cold and wet. She regrets not grabbing something thicker than a hooded sweater before leaving the airport. In her defence, she hadn’t planned on running a full block in inclement weather. A gust of icy wind stings at her cheeks, and her nose has gone numb already.

Claire squints to protect her eyes from the swirling snowflakes and continues on her trek, no matter how obscured her vision has become with the worsening flurries. Her foot lands in a pile of slush at the side of the road, and she winces as the frozen water splashes cover her ankle. She doesn’t stop, though, just pushes through the mass of thick coats. A delivery truck driver slams on the horn as she darts across the street, though there wasn’t need for it: She had plenty of time before he approached the intersection. She tugs the messenger bag further onto her shoulder and slows to a walk once she reaches the hotel. Niall is nowhere to be found in the lobby.

“Hi there.”

“Hey. Lindsey?”

The woman’s smile grows, and she nods excitedly. “Claire Hunter, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

“Right on time!”

Claire digs through the bag for her wallet, coming up victorious after a frantic search. She passes over her ID and the credit card, wraps her arms tightly around herself, and shivers as the warmth of the hotel seeps through the cotton of her hoodie; it’s almost painful in comparison to the numbing cold that currently wraps itself around her. She’s just slid the cards back into her wallet when the door slides open with a soft scraping noise. Lindsey frowns, calling out to the newcomer that there aren’t any vacancies. Claire avoids looking at the person. She’ll feel too guilty about them not getting a room if she sees them.

“Actually, I’m with her.”

She turns at the familiar accent and smiles. “Hey, Boss Man.”

“You are ridiculous, you know that, right? Who the Hell runs an entire block in the middle of a damn blizzard?”

“Someone who didn’t wanna lose the room?” she says as cheerfully and innocently as she can. She faces Lindsey again. “Thank you so much for this. We truly appreciate it.”

“Uh, not a problem. Here’s your room keys, have a wonderful night.”

Lindsey looks a little star-struck as Claire takes the little envelope from her lax fingers. There’s a slight twinge of guilt in her gut - her brain scolds her, tells her she should have warned the poor woman as to who would be staying in the hotel tonight. Niall follows Claire to the elevator; his cheeks are flushed from the cold, and her mind helpfully supplies an image of Rudolph the reindeer as she catches sight of the ruby hue to the tip of her boss’s nose. She giggles at the mental picture of Niall leading Santa’s sleigh through the Christmas night sky. All he does is roll his eyes good-naturedly. He’s quite accustomed to her peculiarities and the way she can never hold back at laughing at her own thoughts. It makes for awkward moments in meetings sometimes, but she doesn’t care.

Claire comes to an abrupt stop once the door is open, and she stares at the room beyond. An armchair sits beside the large window; the navy curtains have been pulled back, tied to the side with a ribbon. A television sits on the corner of the desk next to a vase of fake flowers nestled in decorative pebbles. But what has stolen her attention isn’t the simple opulence of the decor - no, it’s the fact that there’s only one bed. Niall nudges her with the end of a duffel bag, and Claire jerks to attention, stepping quickly out of the way. His blue eyes narrow slightly, the dawning realisation evident on his face. When he glances at her, she raises her shoulders apologetically.

“I _did_ tell her we weren’t picky about the room.”

His chin dips in a sharp nod; he drops the luggage on the floor by the wall, sits on the end of the bed, and unties his shoes. She grabs the laptop and work phone from the messenger bag as he searches for a change of clothes before disappearing into the bathroom. Claire ignores the thoughts that try to creep in when the shower starts up, instead forcing herself to focus on sending out an email to the company they’re supposed to be having a business lunch with tomorrow. Once that’s done, she locates the receipts in the inbox and dials the customer service number on the back of the credit card.

“Yes, I’m aware of this,” she says with a forced calm then covers the end of mouthpiece of the phone to curse under her breath. “As I stated in the email, Mister Pierce, there were no rentals available, and all flights were cancelled due to the storm.”

“I just find it unprofessional -”

“And I’m sorry you feel that way, sir, but as neither I nor Mister Horan can control the weather, our sincerest apologies are all we can offer at this time.”

“Fine.”

The man ends the call without anything further, and Claire exhales heavily, letting out the stream of swearing she’s been holding back. She doesn’t know why Pierce just _had_ to call; it isn’t like he was planning to show up to the lunch anyway, what with having very little to do with the company in the first place. Pierce has proven himself to be the type of big-wig who’ll puff and bluster and demand but won’t actually put in the work like the others do. Claire’s been biting her tongue for a long time in regards to the man. Now, she turns her gaze from the screen of her phone.

“Why the Hell does that company keep that asshole around?”

Niall snorts, tugging a shirt over his head, and a small part of her mourns the loss of his damp skin on display. “I have no idea. But I’m glad you’re the one who has to deal with him most often.”

“Because you’re an ass.”

“As you’ve said. Repeatedly, I might remind you.”

“Well, Abby lied. She said you were a sweetheart. I’m still waiting for _that_ side of you to come out.”

He barks out a laugh and shakes his head; Claire easily catches the small nylon bag that holds her shower items he tosses her way. Sticking her tongue out at him, she sets the work electronics to the side and pads across the room to grab her duffel. She sets it on the corner of the mattress and rifles through the chaotic mess of unfolded clothes. She frowns down at the cotton shorts she pulls out. She forgot she packed the Eeyore ones; it hadn’t mattered that she was on a business trip, no one but her knew what she wore to bed. But that was when she and her boss weren’t being forced to share a room - or a bed. She quickly grabs a T-shirt and a clean pair of underwear then disappears into the bathroom.

Luckily, there’s still hot water, and the pressure is absurdly amazing as it beats against her skin, leaving pinpricks of hot-burn before it slides off. She tries to hurry through the shower, who knows when someone is going to decide Mister Horan’s personal assistant doesn’t need time off, but she lingers under the spray admittedly longer than necessary. The supplied towels aren’t nearly as amazing as the shower, and she winces at the rough drag of the fibres as she scrubs her body dry. After running her brush through her hair with efficient tugs and brushing her teeth, she gathers up her dirty laundry and exits the bathroom, flipping the light off as she goes.

Niall glances away from the television when she re-enters the main room; she avoids eye contact, but she sees from the corner of her eye his raised brows and the way he bites his lip to stifle laughter. He’s just jealous that she can pull off pyjama shorts with a cartoon depressed donkey. She shoves the clothes into her duffel then flops down into the armchair.

“I don’t bite, ya know.”

_I’ve read enough fanfiction, sir, so I know where this would go if I sit on the bed with you_, Claire thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, she shrugs and gives him a small smile. “It’s okay. Gotta finalise the itinerary now that there’s been a wrench thrown into the plans.”

“Or, and this might be a wild suggestion, you could relax and take the night off, get some sleep because we know you work yourself to exhaustion.”

“That’s my boss’s fault. Real wanker, he is.”

“That hurts!” he says with another laugh; she ducks her head as her cheeks burn, pride exploding like fireworks in her chest at making him laugh like that. “I don’t think I’m that bad.”

“Nah, you’re actually worse.”

He tosses a pillows in her direction, and she gapes at him after it hits her in the face. She doesn’t hesitate to lean down and grab it off the floor, scurrying across the room to swing it. This starts an impromptu pillow-fight, and Claire lets herself get lost in the back-and-forth of hitting each other, gasping in mock outrage and bursting at the seams with the laughter. Eventually, Niall holds up his hands in surrender. She doesn’t trust it, hits him once more with the pillow before letting it fall to the bed.

His eyes shine brightly in his face, cheeks pink and lips spread into a wide toothy grin. His hair is a mess - not the usual immaculately-styled ‘do but sticking up in all directions. She glances down, just for a split second, but it’s enough to see the flush that extends below his neck. Biting her lower lip, she realises she’s staring and turns away quickly. She wonders as she does if the disappointment on Niall’s face is real or if she’s imagining it.

The air in the room is thick, awkwardness palpable, but Claire doesn’t question it. She can’t bear the thought of voicing anything of the tight knot in her throat, the heat that’s blossomed in her gut, or the fact her thoughts are suddenly revolving around her boss in a manner completely unbefitting of their professional relationship. She sits back down in the chair, stares blankly at the television. The show does nothing to capture her attention, but she pretends to watch it anyway.

A sigh comes from the bed; the blankets shift and slide together, and she hears the soft thump as the extra pillows hit the floor. Niall’s _goodnight_ is almost inaudible. Her lips are numb as she murmurs her hope of him having good dreams. The lamp goes out, leaving only the flickering wash of colours from the television to illuminate the room. Her belly is filled with a heavy cold, the sense of dread that comes before the change of everything. Claire makes a mental note to not let anything be different than normal - this job... her friendship with Niall, even if she’s his employee... it means too much to her for her to let it change.


	14. fourteen.

Once Niall is deeply asleep and his even breathing is all she can hear, she grabs the laptop and logs into Skype. Her brother isn’t on, but Deirdre is. Claire sends an IM to her sister-in-law, asking if Tim is around. The screen lights up with the incoming video call, and Claire hurriedly connects her earbuds to the laptop before accepting. Something inside of her settles at the sight of her brother’s smiling face.

_Hi, you busy?_ she signs.

He signs back _Not at the moment. What’s wrong?_

She turns her head enough that he can see the black earpiece in her ear, her fingers forming the words _You can talk, I can’t._

“Why?”

_Because my boss is asleep not even four feet away from me._

“Wait, why are you in your boss’s bedroom?” His jaw drops, and Claire can feel his judgment through the screen. “Are you _sleeping_ with your _boss_?”

_No! What the Hell, Tim?_

“You just said your boss is asleep in the same room as you!”

_We got snowed in and had to get a hotel. They only had a single left. So..._ She shrugs, fingers fluttering awkwardly in the air for a moment before forming the words, _How is everyone?_

“They’re fine - Nah, Dee, they’re not sleeping together.”

Deirdre walks up behind Tim, frowning. “Oh, what the Hell! C’mon, Belle, you gotta get on that!”

Claire stifles a giggle at Deirdre’s outburst and shakes her head. _He’s my boss, so no_. Tim translates for Dee whose lower lip juts out in response.

“Lame. Okay, I love you, but I gotta get the kids ready for bed. I want details if you ever decide to stop being a chicken and ride him like a stallion!” she calls out over her shoulder as she walks away, miming riding a horse and twirling a lasso on her way.

_I hate your wife._

The amusement on Tim’s face slowly fades, and Claire fidgets at the seriousness that takes over. His dark eyes narrow as he scrutinises her through the video feed. “Belle, I know you didn’t Skype me at, what is it there? New York, right, so... almost one in the morning to ask about us. What’s going on?”

_I need advice._

“Lay it on me.”

_How do you get rid of feelings for someone?_

“If I knew that, I never would’ve stayed with Simone so long.” He snorts in disgust. “Look, kiddo, you can’t do much to stop feeling something for someone, especially if you’re in constant contact with them. Only thing you _can_ do is either ignore it until it no longer hurts, which I don’t recommend because the feelings do not go away and will eventually explode out of you, or face the fact that you’re in love with your boss.”

_I never said I was in love with him!_

“Ah, but it is your boss, though.”

_You knew it was, shut up,_ she signs with a roll of her eyes. Her brother isn't as stupid as he likes to pretend sometimes, and they both know it.

“I did, yeah. Knew it’d happen.”

Claire frowns and picks at the edge of the scar on her knee. Is she really that predictable that her brother could tell she would develop feelings for Niall? Before she can fall too far into that downward spiral, Tim snaps his fingers, and the sound is sharp, loud in her earbuds; her head jerks up to look at him.

“It’s not a bad thing, Belle. From the stories you’ve told me, that I’m not supposed to know about or you could lose your job, he seems like a genuinely cool, nice dude, and you’ve always gravitated toward that kind of guy - the type who’s laidback and easygoing and likes to have a good time. You never really went for the bad boy shit. Always the goofy, caring, artsy-fartsy type. I would’ve been surprised if it _hadn’t_ happened that you fell for him. You’re a great girl. Annoying at times, but hey, that’s what little sisters are for. But for real? You’re sweet and funny, and you love so fiercely. He’d be lucky to ever have you, but you gotta talk to him.”

_And if he doesn’t feel the same way?_

Tim sighs. “Then you can quit your job, come stay with us for a while, and lick your wounds in peace. After that, you and Dee can go prowling for some fresh meat to get your mind off him.”

_You are really weird and disgusting and I have no idea how we’re related._

“Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other, they fuck. Sometimes, a baby comes from it. And Mommy and Daddy _really_ loved each other!”

_You are a freak. Stop being gross or -_

Claire’s response is cut off by the heavy weight of being watched. She glances up to see the glow of the television reflecting off a pair of eyes, and Niall lifts himself up onto one elbow. Her smile falls from her face. He scrubs a hand over his face, yawns widely, then frowns at her. His lips move, but her earbuds block the sound of his voice. She holds up a finger and removes an earpiece.

“Huh?”

“I said why are you awake?”

“I, uh, wanted to Skype my brother. Sorry.”

“Hey, Belle?” Tim gives her a thumbs-up when she glances down at the screen. “I’ve given you my advice, so go to bed, get some sleep, and talk to him, okay? Love you, kid.”

_I love you, too, Tim-Tam._

The call ends with a swooping beep, and Claire signs out of the program and shuts the laptop. Niall is still staring at her by the time she finishes putting the computer into the messenger bag. She forces a smile, but that only makes his brows furrow.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s one in the morning, you’re still awake, and you look like you’d rather go outside in the middle of a hurricane and blizzard at the same time than be here.”

“I... I’m fine, promise.”

“All right, then get into bed and go to sleep. No, you’re not sleeping in the chair,” he groans before she can so much as gesture toward where she’s sitting.

Her heart starts racing, hammering against her ribs, and she wonders if she can reach the door before he can stop her, even as she reluctantly crosses the room. He flips the corner of the blanket back, and she lies down with the trepidation one usually feels as they’re being led to the gallows. The scent of him is nearly suffocating, but if she’s going to die because her heart gives out, there isn’t really any other aroma she’d rather smell in her last moments. His hand is warm as he pats her shoulder, and she turns her head to see the smug smirk on his lips. She rolls her eyes, though she feels no irritation; he reaches for the remote on his side of the bed, and the TV turns off with a click.

In the darkness, the scant few inches between them suddenly seem so much smaller. Claire drags in as steady a breath as she can manage. How is she meant to sleep tonight when he’s so close? When her stomach is twisting and jolting in her belly? When there’s a hollowness in her chest that’s so pervasive, she can’t feel anything else but the utter panic of knowing all she has to do is reach out and his skin, sleep-warm and bare, will be right there? Her skin buzzes with nerves, and there’s something in her gut that dances around violently, threatening to expel itself. He exhales slowly, his fingers press to her upper arm.

“Sleep, Claire.”

It takes a while, but Claire does.


	15. fifteen.

Claire wakes before Niall, staring at the ceiling as her body reflexively tenses up. The heavy weight of his arm across her belly prevents her from moving, his leg thrown over hers, and her arm has gone slightly numb and tingly with the pressure of his head on her shoulder. She breathes out slowly, wonders if she can disconnect him from her without startling him awake. When he grumbles in his sleep and shifts closer, she knows it’s not an option. The pillow he’d held while he fell asleep is at the end of the bed, and Claire wiggles her toes in an effort to bring it up to her; instead, it slides off the end of the mattress. _Damn it_.

The clock on the bedside table says it’s just after five. Claire hesitates, wondering how badly she needs to pee, then closes her eyes. She might as well get some more sleep, since it doesn’t seem like Niall’s octopus routine is going to end any time soon.

She’s dragged from her sleep by the soft press of lips to her temple. Sighing, she buries her face into the pillow, then jerks back in surprise, eyes flying open. The other side of the bed is empty, her hand reaching for someone who’s no longer there, and she rubs her fingers over her eyes as she sits up. Niall comes into view, and Claire is almost disappointed to see he’s already dressed for the day. Tim’s words echo in her mind, but her tongue feels like lead in her mouth; she can’t even say a simple _good morning_ right now, let alone everything she feels. So she merely waves shortly at Niall before pushing herself out of bed.

Claire washes her hands after using the toilet then stares at her reflection in the mirror. The ghost of the kiss still lingers on her skin. Her fingers tremble as she touches the spot she could’ve sworn she felt lips, but the only person in the room with her was Niall, and he wouldn’t have done that. It hurts to accept that it was all her imagination, just the remnants of a dream haunting her as she woke up. She changes into a pair of leggings and her purple tunic, tying off the ribbons in the back to cinch the shirt in under her bust, then gets to work brushing the knots out of her hair. Once it’s pulled into a bun, she brushes her teeth and shoves the hygiene products back into the bag.

Niall doesn’t look at her as she returns to the main room, too focused on the phone in his hands, and Claire swallows down the confusion and packs everything away in her duffel. The scratch of the zipper sounds so loud in the silence of the room, but she can barely hear it over the crashing sound of her heart falling to pieces.

“Storm’s passed, so we should be able to get out of here soon.”

She nods though she doesn’t take her attention off her hands as she starts making the bed; she needs to do something, anything, to keep her mind from replaying all that has happened in the last twelve hours. Unfortunately, there’s not much to do when one is in a hotel room with someone they’re attracted to but has no chance with, so Claire finishes up with the task and turns to her boss.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

The ride to the ground floor is silent and tense; Claire’s skin burns with the desire to touch while the voice in her head screams for her to run. Niall keeps his eyes trained on the numbers above the door as they light up with each floor they pass. Her head swims more the longer she’s stuck inhaling the scent of him, the aroma she’s never been able to find anywhere else. She stares at their foggy reflections in the walls of the elevator, her fingernail tapping against the metal railing that she grips tightly to. The _tap-tap-tap_ annoys even her, but she can’t stop - until Niall’s hand presses against hers, holds her fingers still. She flashes him an apologetic smile, though he doesn’t see it.

“Where’d you learn sign language?” he asks out of nowhere, and she jerks in the seat, turns her gaze away from the dark clouds outside the airport windows.

“Uh, I had a friend in grade school who was born deaf. He and I wanted to be able to communicate without having to write everything down, so he and his aide taught me.”

“And your brother?”

“He helped quiz me every day on things I learnt so I wouldn’t forget. Without him, I probably wouldn’t be nearly as fluent.”

Niall stares at her, blue eyes dark with something she can’t identify. “You continue to surprise me.”

“I’m... sorry?”

“Don’t be. It’s a good thing.”

Claire waits for more, but it seems as if he’s said all he wants to. So she settles back in her seat and waits for their flight to be announced. The next two hours pass by agonisingly slow, and by the time they start boarding, Claire feels like she’s about to vibrate out of her skin. She’s tried, so many times, to start a conversation with Niall, to say anything to make him laugh like she did last night, but her mouth hadn’t wanted to cooperate, so she’d sat there in that hard chair and stared down at her feet the entire time.

Being trapped in the seat next to him on the plane isn’t any easier. In fact, it’s a million times harder. Whereas in the airport she could get up and walk around when her nerves and the uncomfortable situation got to her, here she can’t. Not unless she wants to repeatedly climb over his lap as she gets in and out of her seat. Her mind races as she stares out the small window, and her knee bounces the entire time; Niall doesn’t stop her fidgeting this time. She wonders what that means.

The sole of her flats scuff across the floor as she joins Niall in the kitchen, laptop in one hand, work phone in the other. Her eyes skim over the email that’s just come in. “Okay, so the business lunch has been rescheduled for tomorrow, but that’s fine, since tomorrow was a recuperation day anyway. That’s all until Wednesday, when you have to -”

“I know what I have scheduled for Wednesday,” he snaps out, and she finally looks up at him; his shoulders are tight, but then he sighs, and his muscles go loose. “Sorry, I’m just... I’m tired. Go home, Claire. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Niall?”

“Goodnight, Claire.”

He doesn’t look at her even though he _has_ to be able to feel her staring. After a moment, it sinks in that somehow, Claire has done something wrong and he isn’t going to speak any more. She nods to herself, pivoting on her heel, and heads toward the foyer, slipping the laptop into the messenger bag and the phones into her purse. The house stays silent except for her footsteps, and she closes the door behind her. She has so many questions to ask. Only one person can give her the answers, and he’s just sent her away. She slides into the driver’s seat of her car and stares up at the house in front of her. Her phone buzzes in the pocket of her purse, and she instinctively reaches for it. Hot shame courses through her as she reads the text from Tim; she feels like an utter fool for hoping it would be Niall.

  
**Tim-Tam says:** BBQ my house this wknd u in?  
  
**Claire says:** I'll check my schedule.  
  
**Tim-Tam says:** Talk to me belle  
  
**Claire says:** I'll call you when I get home  


Claire tosses the phone into the passenger seat, gives the house one last look, then pulls away. Theories swirl around in her mind, but none of them seem to fit properly. There was nothing odd about Niall’s behaviour prior to them landing in Los Angeles and heading back to his house. Well, nothing that she couldn’t have just chalked up to him being exhausted - him not stopping her fidgeting on the plane? He was probably too tired to waste that energy. Him not speaking to her in the hotel room before they left? He was most likely just concerned with getting to the airport and catching the flight back to California. But him sending her away an hour after he got settled in at home and snapping at her is something she can’t explain.

Inexplicably, tears prick painfully at her eyes, and Claire blinks them away rapidly. This isn’t something she can handle right now. So she focuses all her attention on not dying at the hands of the other drivers, inattentive and speeding like always. She’s only a few minutes from her apartment when she decides an enormous, fattening, sweet-enough-to-send-her-into-a-diabetic-coma sundae is in order, so she signals to take the exit and makes her way out of the hustle and bustle of LA traffic and into the quieter streets of a sprawling town on the outskirts.

“Hey, there’s my favourite girl.”

“Ma, you’re too kind.”

Edna leans against the counter, staring with narrowed eyes as Claire approaches the stools. “Darling girl, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Claire laughs softly, raises her hands in surrender. “I’m just tired. Got snowed in in New York last night and didn’t get to sleep until real late, then woke up too early. That’s all.”

“If you’re sure. So I guess this means you don’t want the Belle of the Bowl, then?”

“If you dare keep that from me, Ma, I will riot, and it won’t be pretty.”

Edna sets the large bowl in front of Claire with a smile and ambles off to talk to Gerald down at the other end. Claire picks up her spoon, smiling at the massive amount of ice cream in the dish. A scoop each of chocolate, mint-chocolate chip, and vanilla with crumbled Oreos and hot fudge, a hefty serving of whipped cream, and - the best part - five cherries on top… just what the doctor ordered. Or, well, Claire’s stomach and the heavy-hanging confusion in her brain. She listens to the conversations going on around her as she tugs a cherry from its stem.

By the time she spoons up the last mouthful of melted ice cream and fudge sauce, it’s been well over an hour since she arrived, and Claire’s learnt that Gerald’s seventeen-year-old granddaughter ran off with her boyfriend to elope, Melanie down the block is pregnant with her seventh kid, and Dale and Bobbi are both in jail for public indecency. Claire shakes her head, wipes at her mouth with a napkin, and slips a twenty halfway under the bowl. She ignores Edna’s protest and grins widely, thanking the woman for the treat and promising to come back soon. Claire glances back up at the diner after she’s slid into the driver’s seat of her car, laughs when Edna shakes a fist at her; the smile that splits the old woman’s face is enough to make Claire feel so much better.

  
**Tim-Tam says:** Belle its been almost two hrs u dead??? **Claire says:** Yes, Tim. I’ve died, and now my ghost is responding to you.  
**Claire says:** The afterlife is VERY tame. It looks a lot like Ma’s.  
  
**Tim-Tam says:** Y did u need a belle of the bowl?  
  
**Claire says:** Maybe I wanted Charlie’s greasy burgers, you ever think about that?  
**Claire says:** …….It was the Belle of the Bowl. I’ll explain in a bit. Driving home now.  
  
**Tim-Tam says:** Drive safe belle  


Claire tosses her phone into the passenger seat and reverses from the parking spot. Thankfully, the drive home is less muddled, the silence slightly less overwhelming. Her mind isn’t quite so fixated on trying to figure out Niall’s sudden personality change. A wild-sounding giggle bubbles up when she wonders if she should call Abby and ask for advice. The logical part of her brain immediately shuts down that thought; if Abby never dealt with this, then Claire certainly doesn’t want to expose the fact that she’s struggling to handle it now.


	16. sixteen.

Claire stuffs her earbuds into her ears, waits for the chiming noise to sound, then connects her phone to the laptop. She knows she should actually talk to her brother, that he is most likely worried about her after finding out she went to the diner for the massive ice cream dish, but all she wants right now is to focus on work and not the conflicting thoughts in her head.

Once she has the files transferred to the computer, Claire sets about transcribing the recordings. She loses herself in typing up what she’s hearing, the steadiness that the task provides. Her fingers don’t stop moving across the keyboard even as the room slowly darkens; her back twinges, but she stays still - if she shifts to relieve the tension, she will lose her momentum, and she’s so close to being done.

It isn’t until she’s reached the last one that she takes a break, stretches out her fingers and arms. Claire puts the laptop aside and pads her way out to the kitchen for a drink. The sound of laughter causes her to look away from the fridge, and she sighs when she sees the balcony doors are wide open. At least her roommates are smoking _outside_ for once. She grabs a Diet Coke from the refrigerator, making sure the door is shut once the can is in her hand, and heads back to her room. Duke calls after her, but she ignores him. She really doesn’t have the patience to deal with them.

_“Hello?… Hey. Yeah, things are good, just finishing up a meeting… Yeah, well, sort of. She’s just gone to the toilet… No, why would I? That’d be stupid, don’t you think?… I’m not going to tell - Look, she’s coming back. I’ll call you later.”_

Claire frowns at the laptop screen, replays the audio clip. The words haven’t changed since the first playthrough, and she wonders who Niall was talking to - and about. After listening to the clip three more times, she grabs the work phone, locates the file, and Air Drops it to her personal phone. A sense of wrongness fills her at the notice of the transfer being complete; is it appropriate to be saving the recording without permission? Does Niall even know he was recorded speaking to whoever was on the other end of his phone call? She bites down on her lower lip as her stomach churns more forcefully. She doesn’t delete the file, though.

Things are awkward and tense when Claire shows up for work the next day. They seem to be playing a game of “Who can avoid looking at the other the most?”, and Niall is definitely winning. Though they still converse, they don’t have that back-and-forth banter they had before the whole hotel situation, and she tries to not let it affect her too much. She forces herself to do her job, to keep her thoughts from straying too far from whatever task is at hand.

It works, for the most part, as long as she’s working. When she’s home alone, in bed and trying to sleep, it’s a completely different story. Her mind wanders where it wants to go, no matter how hard she fights it, and her dreams are filled with fragmented recollections of that night in the hotel room - the pillow fight, the unreadable expression on his face before she turned away, the easy way she’s finally accepted what she feels for him… the kiss that she still can’t quite figure out if it was a figment of her imagination or not. Claire is still no closer to determining whether it was a dream or if it really happened, though she’s almost ninety percent sure that it was nothing more than fantasy.

By the end of the second week after coming back from New York, there is an uncomfortable buzzing constantly in the back of her mind, so Claire does what she does best: She wakes up bright and early on Saturday, dresses in a pair of comfortable denim shorts and an old T-shirt, and drives to her parents’ house; the messenger bag with the laptop and work phone ride shotgun in the passenger seat, and she says a quick prayer that she doesn’t get called into work today. She makes her way through the front door, stopping to pluck a dead leaf off of the African violets that hang from the ceiling, and sets the bag on the kitchen table.

Walking through the patio door, Claire finds her mother out in the backyard. She pauses at the edge of the brick, inhales the scent of flowers and earth. The morning is warming up rapidly, though a breeze floats by in an attempt to dispel some of the heat. She toes off her sandals and crosses the yard, toes wiggling in the grass as she goes.

“Grab some gloves,” Melissa orders lightly without bothering to look up at her daughter, and Claire does as told, kneels down in the soil to wrap her fingers around the base of a nearby weed. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“What, I can’t just come see my mom?”

Melissa snorts, shaking her head. “You never come over all ready to garden unless you need to talk. So… tell me what’s wrong.”

Claire sighs but eventually explains in stilted words about her feelings and the awkward situation - she doesn’t say anything about _who_ she has feelings for, though. It’s hard enough to admit it to herself. Her mother listens carefully, doesn’t interrupt, and slowly, Claire’s words dry up. The pile of weeds next to her leg has grown significantly in the time she spoke, and Claire scoops them up and tosses them into the pail at the edge of the flowerbed. Her mom sits back on her heels after Claire falls silent.

“Honey, if you really care for this guy, just talk to him. Ask him what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I can’t do that.” Her mom sends her a questioning look, and Claire sighs, ducks her head as she confesses, “It’s my boss.”

“Oh! Well. You’re in a right pickle, aren’t you.”

“Mom, what do I do? If things keep being weird between us, I’m going to lose my job, but worse, I’ll lose him as a friend.”

Melissa reaches over, grabs her daughter’s hand. Claire exhales slowly as their fingers entwine together. When she looks back up at her mother, her lower lip wobbles at the sympathetic expression on Melissa’s face.

“I think… maybe you’ll just have to pretend things are fine until they are. I know it’s not ideal, no, but it might just be your only option. Then, once everything has settled down and you’re a little more clear-headed about the circumstance, when things aren’t so close to the surface for either of you, you could try to bring it up to him then.”

“So fake it till I make it?”

“Precisely. Now come on, we should get some lunch. I’m starving.”

Claire follows her mom into the house, Melissa’s words rattling around in her brain. As logical as the advice is, Claire isn’t so sure she _wants_ to pretend there’s nothing between her and Niall. It may be uncomfortable right now, but acting like he is little more than an employer holds no satisfaction. Losing that friendly battle of wits, stifling any sort of camaraderie… the thought alone is painful. She stares out the window over the sink as she washes the dirt off her arms. No closer to an answer that she’s happy with, Claire decides to push it aside for now.

Claire takes her mother’s advice on Monday. As mixed up as she feels inside, she puts on a show that she’s fine, there isn’t anything wrong in the relationship she has with Niall. The strain gets to her by noon, though, so she takes a break in the middle of responding to an email to send a text message to Deirdre; her sister-in-law usually has good suggestions to give.

  
**Claire says:** Hey, you busy?  
  
**Dee says:** Not too busy for you. What’s up?  
  
**Claire says:** I dunno if Mom has told you or Tim anything, but things are awk rn with my boss and I’m trying to figure out how to fix it.  
**Claire says:** Deeeeeee, how the hell do I stop things from being so weird?  
  
**Dee says:** Nope, Mom never told us. At least not me. And idk what to tell you, babe. Talk to him??? Would it be so bad if you had to quit?  
  
**Claire says:** Y E S.   
**Claire says:** I love this job, I really do  
**Claire says:** Even when I’m dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to take care of his drunk, emotional ass and get him into bed  
**Claire says:** I LOVE what I do. And I don’t wanna lose my job…  
  


The typing bubble appears at the bottom of the screen, and Claire sits back to wait for whatever guidance Deirdre is going to dispense. After ten seconds of waiting, Claire sighs and turns back to the laptop, finishes up the email. She deletes half of what she’s written, thinking over what needs to be said. Niall drops into the chair beside her, and she wiggles her fingers at him in greeting even as she continues typing. His sharp exhale is loud in the quiet, and she waits until she’s finally sent off the email to turn to him.

“You okay?”

“Okay, I’m sorry for, er, accidentally reading your texts to your sister. The screen was just there, and I didn’t mean to.” He pauses, twists his fingers around themselves. “And I’m sorry for you having to take care of me that night. And that I didn’t remember it or show appreciation. I mean, you came over in the middle of the night because I asked you to and dealt with me that way.”

“No worries. Really. As I told you when you called, it’s my job to do what you ask of me. Besides, I didn’t really mind. I liked being able to be there for you as a friend,” she admits after a slight hesitation, and he nods slowly.

“Did… did I say anything?”

“All you did was threaten to fire me for not getting you more alcohol. Nothing embarrassing, I promise.”

“I’m still really sorry you had to deal with that. Usually, Mully is around to stop me from using my phone while I’m drunk.”

“Niall, c’mon. Stop apologising. It’s fine. I just, I want things to not be awkward between us. That’s all I care about right now.”

Niall shrugs, staring down at his hands. Claire’s heart races in her chest, and her throat tightens. She swallows thickly the longer he’s silent, but then he catches her eye.

“I want that, too. I just… don’t know how.”

“Well, we could figure it out together?”

“I’d like that,” he murmurs, and Claire feels like she could drown in the beauty of his smile.

**……………**

The sound of a door slamming open and shouting brings Claire abruptly to consciousness. She bolts upright in her bed as her bedroom door swings inward; a bright light shines directly in her face, and she narrows her eyes and holds up a hand to block the light. It takes a moment, but she finally understands what’s being barked at her. Claire stumbles out of bed and toward the door, managing to grab both of her cell phones on the way.

“Hey, watch it!” she says when a hand roughly drags her out into the hallway. “What the fuck is going on?”

No one answers, but she expected the silence. What she _doesn’t_ expect is being forced face-first against the wall, her arms twisted behind her back as someone yanks the phones from her hands, and the cold cuffs click as they tighten around her wrists. The air outside is cool and heavy with moisture, the scent of rain, and Claire shivers with the goosebumps that rush up her exposed flesh. Her neighbours stare through their windows as the officers lead her to one of the vehicles out front. She catches sight of Duke, Flop, and Matt in the other. Tears burn in her eyes, but she keeps her mouth shut on the drive to the station. Chuck avoids looking at her as she’s shoved unceremoniously into the backseat, and she just barely gets her feet into the car before the door is slammed shut behind her.

_Well, fucking fuck._


	17. seventeen.

The chair beneath her is hard and uncomfortable, and Claire resists the urge to squirm under the detective’s weighted gaze. With a sigh, he starts tapping the end of his pen against the metal tabletop; the sound instantly sends a shock of annoyance through her, and she grits her teeth to stem the words.

“Miss Hunter, you have to give me something. I mean, things are looking pretty bleak for you right now. You were found in the same apartment as a, quite frankly, staggering amount of marijuana and cocaine, you have a history with one of the men you live with, and you had two cell phones on you when you were arrested, one of which is actually labelled ‘Work’. None of that is good, not for your claim that you’re not involved.”

“I’d give you something if I had something. I really don’t know what the Hell is going on or what my roommates were up to, okay?” She sighs, fidgeting, and the cuffs that connect her wrist to the table scrape and clink together. “Look, the work phone is literally for my job. Paid for and given to me by my boss, to be returned to my boss when I no longer work for him. My days are from sunup to way past sundown. My bedroom? Literally only see it for a few hours each night before I’m gone again. I wouldn’t be surprised if the guys forgot I even live there with how little I’m ever home.”

“And what do you do for work?”

The implications are heavy, obvious, and she barely manages to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “I’m not a prostitute, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m a personal assistant.”

“Oh? And would your boss be willing to corroborate?”

“Probably, if he wants to keep me as his PA.”

“Okay, well, I’m gonna need his name so I can make a call to him and check out your story.”

“Detective Hooper, is it? I don’t know anything. All I know is I got home at midnight last night and then got woken up by a bunch of cops and SWAT bursting through the door at, what, two in the morning? I. Don’t. Know. Anything. Whatever my roommates were doing is on them.”

The man snorts derisively, barely giving her a quick glance. “You’re telling me that you lived in the same apartment and have for over a year, and you never heard any details of what they were doing?”

She throws her hands in the air as much as she can, collapses into the seat; a wince pulls at her face when the metal of the chair presses into her spine. “Fuck, yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

“How do you know your roommates?”

“I was friends with Matt in high school. We ran into each other when I moved back to California from college in New York, he found out I needed a place to live and offered up one of the rooms in the apartment. I don’t really know the others that well. As I said, I’m hardly ever home any more, and when I am, I’m in my room, sleeping.”

“I’ll be right back, Miss Hunter, sit tight.”

“Yeah, well, where the Hell else am I gonna go?” she mutters as Detective Hooper closes the door quietly behind him.

Eventually, an officer comes to lead Claire away, and her feet slap against the freezing tiles of the floor. No one says anything to her as they pass and head down the stairs. Her heart leaps into her throat; she’s seen enough cop procedural shows to know this is where they keep the cells. She also knows that this is going to be an even longer night.

Claire shivers in the cold air of the cell, and the woman at the end of the bench gives her a once-over before pointedly turning her face away. Claire’s eyes burn with tears of humiliation. She still doesn’t even know what’s going on, and her body aches for rest; between the adrenaline and fear that courses through her veins and not getting to bed until after midnight because of some last-minute emails that Niall wanted her to send out, she’s exhausted, both physically and mentally. And it doesn’t help that she’s had more late nights than early bedtimes in the past two weeks.

She coughs quietly to dislodge the lump in her throat, but it’s still there when she swallows back the tears. _This isn’t fair_, she thinks to herself and sighs. Who cares what’s fair - fairness has nothing to do with whatever the Hell is happening. Voices echo down the hallway from the bullpen, muffled by distance and cinder-block walls painted a garish yellow. She wonders if the colour is meant to be torture or if it’s just a bonus. Shoving away the thoughts, Claire curls herself into a tight ball on her end of the seat and drags her hands roughly along her arms and legs in an effort to warm up by friction alone.

Something soft collides with her shins, and Claire lifts her head to see a black sweater, body-warm and inviting. The woman’s lips quirk upwards just a bit, but she doesn’t say anything, just continues to lean against the wall with her eyes closed. Claire hesitates for a split second before her desire to not freeze pushes her into wrapping the hoodie around herself. It isn’t much, not really, but it’s enough that Claire feels a little less like sobbing hysterically. She shudders and wiggles her toes, honestly worried that they might actually fall off soon with how chilly she is. A clock somewhere down the hall ticks away the seconds, the clicking of the hands echoing in the freezing silence of the cell block; Claire loses track of how long it’s been past forty-seven minutes. She glances up at the sound of nearing footsteps, and an officer stares with impassive eyes back at her.

“Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

She stands at the cop’s gesture. He unlocks the cell door, the hinges squealing as he pulls it open. She hurriedly hands the hoodie back to the woman with a quick but heartfelt thanks, darts out into the corridor. The officer leads her back up the stairs to the main lobby of the precinct, and he motions her toward the desk by the doors. The cop behind the desk passes over a plastic bag, and Claire nearly weeps with gratitude right then and there at the sight of the phones inside. She signs the paperwork as quickly as she can then heads outside. The sun is already up, the bright rays touching everything in sight. Claire realises then, as people push past her, that she doesn’t know where to go or how to get there.

The line rings and rings, and Claire ends the call before trying again. This time, there’s a soft click, and she exhales heavily; relief diffuses through her, tinged with hope.

“Hey, I’m… I’m so sorry. I know I was supposed to be there, fuck, three and a half hours ago, but -”

“Do you realise how unprofessional it is for you to be so late without any kind of heads-up?”

Claire’s throat tightens, and she glances out the window as the driver zips past a minivan. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“I really don’t care how sorry you say you are.” Niall sighs. “Just, just get here, drop off the phone and any work-related files you have, then leave. You’re fired.”

“But -”

The line goes silent, and she pulls her phone away from her ear to stare at the screen. Yep, he’s hung up on her. She drags in a shaky breath, but her lungs are too small, too tight, in her chest. Clearing her throat, she reaches for the notepad and pen that rests in the netting on the back of the passenger seat. Her handwriting is nearly illegible, but she continues writing down the information Niall demanded, including the rescheduled meeting times. _At least those calls weren’t this terrible_, she thinks, and they hadn’t been. Sure, she’d been treated as if she was incompetent by one company, but the rest had seemed to understand that Niall missing the meeting was nothing of his own doing and all on the fact that his assistant had a personal emergency. The tight ball of dread beneath her ribs grows, her heart sinking further the more her brain plays _you’re fired you’re fired you’re fired_ on a loop. Thankfully, the driver doesn’t speak as she lets herself sob in the backseat, and she absentmindedly decides to give him five-stars, simply because he’s allowing a pyjama-clad woman to let loose with her emotions without mentioning it.

The car comes to a stop next to the fence, and Gavin presses the button for the hazard lights. Claire hiccups, tears the paper from the top of the notepad, and forces a smile. Making sure she has her phones in hand, she pushes open the door and steps out of the car. The asphalt burns the bottom of her bare feet, and anger surges up in her. It isn’t fair, the way she’s being punished for her roommates’ stupidity. Gavin pulls away once she’s far enough way to not risk running her over; she stares up at the house in front of her, sighing. For once, the grounds don’t prove able to distract her. She wonders if it’s the time she’s spent here or if it’s because the storm inside her is too strong. She clutches the paper and phones in her hands, steeling her resolve, and begins the trek through the gate and up the walk to the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry please don't be too angry with me. i really do adore you, i swear!


	18. eighteen.

Niall is already standing outside when she approaches. Claire’s head pounds in time with her heartbeat, the edges of her vision having gone blurry. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his jaw is set as he watches her come closer. She ignores the fiery anger in his eyes that makes them cold, hard, and her fingers shake as she holds out the work phone. He stares down at the device.

“You're four hours late, and you show up in your pyjamas. You really want to make this memorable, then?”

Her bones feel like they are about to turn to dust, and her breath rattles as she forces herself not to dwell, not to drag this out. “Th-the PIN is the same as when Abby was your assistant, but I wrote it down anyway. For you. Um, this is a list of meetings you had this morning, and they've been rescheduled - the times are on there, too. I'm… fuck, Niall, I'm sorry. Today’s been a shit-show, and I know it isn't an excuse, but…” She shrugs, squirms under his gaze. “I _am_ sorry.”

She lets go of the paper once it's in his hand, turning to walk away. Her shoulders shake violently as she starts crying again. This has been a day full of surprises, none of them good, and she feels like she's crumbling under the weight of the last eight hours. Pain radiates up her legs with every step; she sniffs and steps off the hot sidewalk into the grass, though it isn't much help. Her steps slow as mortification and anger swells, mixes and bleeds through her veins. Suddenly, she turns on her heel, biting back a hiss as the grass scrapes roughly against her tender skin, and raises a finger to point at him.

“No. Know what? You wanna talk about unprofessional? How about the fact that you didn't even bother hearing my side even though I've seriously never been late in the eight months I've been working as your personal assistant. Hell, I've _always_ been early. I got here at six-thirty on the nose every day and I rarely went home before nine in the evening. That's not including all the time zones I've had to get used to, the various tasks assigned to me by people I don't even work for so you could do your events. I've done more than what the job description ever said I'd have to do. And I do it all while handling your quirks and watching your friend’s kid every time they're over, and I did it damn good. I did it without complaining. I did it with a fucking smile on my face, no matter how utterly and completely annoying you were.

“So for you to throw it in my face about the _one time_ I'm late, and for things that I literally could not have less control over… it's bullshit. It's absolute bullshit of such a low grade, farmers wouldn't even spread it over their damn crops. I'm fired, sure, whatever. My actions were ‘unprofessional’. But guess what, buddy! So were yours. Now, if you don't mind, I’m going to wait by the side of the road for an Uber and wave at all the fucking people who wanna stop and stare at the girl with Eeyore pyjamas and burnt feet. Fuck you very much, _Mister Horan_.”

The shock that crosses his face does little to fill her with satisfaction; instead, Claire is consumed by regret at losing this job, because as demanding as it was, it's the best one she's ever had. She nods determinedly and turns around again, grateful that he can't see the wince when she takes a step or the tears that threaten to slip down her cheeks. Her eyes fall closed when she is pulled to a stop, tugged until she’s facing him.

“I'm sorry. You're right. I should've listened first.” Niall scratches at his eyebrow. In any other circumstances, Claire would have found his awkwardness endearing, but right now, she's still too irate. “What happened?”

His question breaks the dam, and the words come spilling out of her. “Well, besides being jobless, I’m also officially homeless, because my stupid-ass roommates decided that growing a small pot farm in their bedrooms was a _terrific_ idea. On top of that, one of them became a dealer sometime in the last few months and, once again, proved how amazing his ideas are by fucking over one of the biggest narcs in the city, so our apartment got raided at the very lovely time of two in the goddamn morning.

“I was dragged out of my bed and arrested with them, and it took the officers approximately seven hours to realise that, hey, maybe the chick who’s saying she had nothing to do with the drugs? Doesn’t actually have anything to do with the drugs!” Claire snorts and shoves a hand through her tangled hair. “Will wonders never cease. But now the apartment is literally being ransacked right now, so I can’t take a shower or get clean fucking clothes, which is why I’m here in my pyjamas yelling at you, and I’m really sorry, I know the situation - well, the one regarding my apartment and dumb-ass roommates - is not your fault, but… yeah. Today has sucked. So bad.”

Niall’s arms are warm as they wrap around her shoulders, and she doesn’t try to fight the embrace. She presses her forehead against his chest, sighs when more tears slip down her cheeks. Her skin heats up with the contact and the sunshine overhead. Eventually, he steps back, but his hands stay curled around her biceps. There’s an unreadable emotion in his eyes this time, and she doesn’t care to figure out what it is. All she knows is that she’s immensely glad that it isn’t the disgust from earlier.

“C’mon, I think you could do with a long soak in the tub.”

“I don’t have clothes here.”

“Yeah, you do. You left some behind the last time you stayed over because our flight didn't get in until three. You left them in the bathroom hamper when you showered, and I put them in the guest room after washing them.”

Claire hesitates then waves vaguely toward the house. Niall takes it as the acceptance that it is and guides her toward the front door. No matter how slowly they take it, or how gingerly she puts her feet down, she can't stop the hiss of agony with each movement. He bites his lip, staring between her and the house, and turns his back to her. She lets out a disbelieving laugh when he tells her to hop on.

“There's no way.”

“It'll be a lot easier and much less painful.”

That alone causes her to cave. She tiptoes carefully to him, and he ducks down as she jumps slightly. It's uncomfortable for a moment until his arms hook below her knees, shifting her so she settles against his back. She feels wobbly as he takes a step; she says a silent apology to every child she's ever given a piggy-back ride to, because she definitely understands why they always screech at first, swallowing thickly at the sensation that she is going to fall backwards and die at any moment.

Thankfully, they manage to make it inside without any problems. The coolness of the floor under her feet eases some of the pain, and Claire lets out a soft sigh when the burning abates just a bit. Niall keeps one hand steady on her elbow as they make their way up the stairs; he disappears into the guest bedroom while she steps into the bathroom. He returns a moment later with a pair of black leggings and an oversized long-sleeved shirt. His cheeks flush as he shrugs.

“You don’t have any, er, underwear here, sorry.”

“It’s okay. Thanks.”

He leaves her then with a gentle smile, and she turns toward the bathtub. Once the basin is full of water, steam spiralling from the surface in thin curls, she strips off her pyjamas, bundling them into a ball, and sets them on the counter. She steps carefully into the tub, hisses at the fire that engulfs her feet. A low groan escapes after she sits down and leans back. The stress of the morning suddenly seems so far away, and she closes her eyes and lets the heat and isolation relax the tension from her body. Her mind is still in overdrive, though, between the raid on the apartment and finding out she’s lost her job and maybe has it back? Claire drags in a long breath and sinks below the water.

Niall looks up from his phone as she pads into the living room twenty minutes later. He waits until she’s sat down to pass over a bottle of water, and Claire takes it from him, flashing him a smile of gratitude. They don’t speak as she cracks the lid and sips at it. Her brows furrow when he wiggles his fingers in her direction. He rolls his eyes, huffs out a laugh, and gingerly grabs her ankle, pulling her foot toward him. She lets him examine the bottoms of her feet, no matter how uncomfortable she feels at having his hands near them. After a moment, he releases his hold on her, and she hesitates but curls her legs up toward her body.

“I’m not a doctor or anything, but I don’t think there’s too much damage done. Might be tender for a while, though.”

She nods slowly. “Thanks. I, I have to ask. Am I still fired?”

“No. That was… that was an overreaction that should have never happened.” Niall pauses, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Am I still Mister Horan?”

“Hm. That’s a tough question. No, you’re Niall again,” she laughs at the expression on his face, and he swats at her leg playfully as she yawns.

“Why don’t you take a nap?”

“Because it’s the middle of the day.”

“Sleep, Claire. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what do we think of _no judgement_ and its accompanying video?


	19. nineteen.

When Claire wakes, the house is quiet. Late afternoon sunlight streams through the windows, glinting a golden-orange off the dark television screen. She stretches out along the sofa, groans at the popping noises coming from her joints. The throw blanket slides off the couch when she sits up, and she scrubs a hand over her eyes, wiping away the bleariness.

Her feet ache as she places them on the floor; she bites back a hiss but pushes on in her search to find out where Niall has gone to. She finds him on the back patio, shirtless as he reclines in one of the chairs with his eyes closed. Claire leans against the door-frame and takes in the sight before her. His skin is flushed pink from the heat and sunshine, the sharpness of his jaw accented by shadow. Long lashes fan out over his cheekbones, and the delicate curve of his lips draws her in, makes her want to find out what he tastes like. Her fingers itch with the phantom urge to run through the curls on his chest; she clenches her hands into fists at her sides.

“You’re staring.”

Claire jumps, startled, and slaps a hand to her chest. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He cracks his eyes open and turns his head to look at her. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel… better, I guess,” she replies as she sits in the chair next to him.

“Did the nap help?”

“Surprisingly, yes, it did. Thanks. Uh, have you seen my phone, by any chance?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. It’s on the kitchen counter. You left it in the bathroom after your bath.”

Once Claire has retrieved her phone, she rejoins him on the deck and scrolls mindlessly through her social media. Articles of the arrest are all over FaceBook, though they thankfully don’t include her name. She sighs heavily. If the news is already out, then it’s only a matter of time before Tim or her parents find out, and none of them will be pleased if they don’t hear it from her. Niall gives her a questioning look, but she shakes her head, focuses on composing a new group text to her family.

Fam Bam 🖤  
  
**Claire says:** Hey, before you find out from FB - yes, my roommates were arrested this morning. I was questioned but released because I’m a good girl who doesn’t get involved in that kind of stuff. I’m fine, I promise. I just figured I’d tell you so I don’t have all four of you jumping my ass if you found out from the internet. Love you!   


“Had to let my family know,” she replies to his unasked inquiry, and he nods slowly.

“So what are you going to do now?”

A sharp, humourless laugh bursts out of her, and she shrugs, tucks her phone under thigh to protect it from the sun. “I, I have no idea. Motto of my fuckin’ life, though, I suppose.”

“You, er, you could stay here until you find somewhere else,” he offers; something in his voice sounds off, and Claire stares at him for a long moment before she realises - he’s nervous. He avoids eye contact with her, instead leaning his head back and closing his eyes again.

Claire sighs, shoves her hand through her hair, and averts her gaze to the backyard. “It’s okay. I’ll probably just call my brother later, see if I can stay with them for a while.”

“Don’t they live an hour away with_out_ traffic?”

“Yeah,” she admits on a heavy exhale. He’s right. He doesn’t even have to make his point - Claire knows what it is, and she knows he’s right. “I can’t just move in with you, though.”

“Why not? It’s my house.”

“And how would Mully feel about that?”

In response, Niall tosses his phone in her direction. The device bounces off her fingertips, but she manages to catch it before it hits the stone beneath them. A text message thread is on the screen, and she stares at her boss for a moment before reading the last few texts between Niall and Mully. The sight of Mully agreeing so readily warms Claire from the inside out; she hasn’t ever been sure how the man feels about her presence, though obviously he doesn’t hate her if he is willing to let her basically move in with them. The phone makes a swooping sound in her hand; the new message pops up, and though she wants to read whatever Mully’s said, she passes the phone back to Niall before she can give into that desire.

His cheeks turn a brilliant shade of red before her eyes, and Claire wonders what his friend could have sent that would cause that reaction. After a long moment, he types something back then locks the phone, shoving it into his pocket. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Fine. I guess you’ve made a viable argument. But I’ll only accept your offer on one condition: You let me put something towards the bills. I won’t live off your dime. I hated when it was my brother paying for me, and I’m sure I’d hate it just as much - if not more - if it’s you.”

He rolls his eyes, waves a hand in her direction. “We can talk about that later. For now, I think you need to see if you can get back into your apartment long enough to pack your stuff.”

****

{…}

Rhiannon follows Claire up the stairs to the apartment, and the cop outside the door frowns at the extra person. Claire explains that she’s going to need all the help she can get if she’s going to make this quick; he hesitates then nods, pushes open the door. The living room beyond is a mess - bootprints sully the floor, and the posters that usually hung on the walls have been knocked off, the frames cracked and broken. Claire draws in a steadying breath, picks her way through the furniture to her room. She drops the stack of broken-down boxes onto the floor inside the door, turning to the other woman.

“I really appreciate this. I mean, it’s fucked up that this is how we’re meeting for the first time, I’m sure it isn’t the way you’ve ever wanted to meet someone, but... I do appreciate your help.”

She smiles brightly and shrugs. “It’s okay. Really. Louis has talked about you a lot, and Freddie adores you, so you can’t be all bad, right?”

“Glowing praise,” responds Claire with a small laugh.

The officer clears his throat from the doorway, and Claire rolls her eyes in Rhiannon’s direction and begins unfolding one of the boxes, setting it on the end of the bed. Rhiannon doesn’t bother taking the clothes off their hangers as she grabs them from the closet, just tosses them onto the mattress and going back for more. They work in silence to shove clothing into the boxes, set them aside once they’re full. Eventually, Claire moves to her dresser and starts pulling out handfuls of underwear and socks from the top drawer while Rhiannon focuses on the books on the shelf.

It takes less time than Claire would have thought to get everything in her room boxed up - four boxes for just her clothes and another for her books, various knickknacks, and personal electronics and their charging chords. She doesn’t know how to feel about seeing her life so condensed into such few containers. Even leaving New York with nothing but a suitcase full of her clothes hadn’t been so disheartening. Claire moves on to the bathroom, dropping bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash into a shopping bag. A rustling noise comes from the other room, and she steps back into her room to see Rhiannon gathering up all the shoes in Claire’s closet and dropping them into the bottom of a large garbage bag. Claire makes sure to grab her keys from the hook on the wall.

“The least he could’ve done is helped,” Rhiannon grumbles as they finish loading the last box into the trunk of Claire’s car, and she closes the lid as Claire rounds the car to get into the driver’s seat. “I mean, seriously, who just stands there and watches two young women carrying that much shit down three flights of stairs without even an offer of help?”

Claire laughs without humour, holds up her wrist where her FitBit sits. “At least we got our steps in today.”

“There is that,” Rhiannon retorts dryly as she shoves her sunglasses onto her face.

Driving back to Niall’s house is a quiet thing. Rhiannon hums along to the songs that play on the stereo, occasionally changes the track whenever she doesn’t like what she hears, while Claire splits her attention between watching the road zip by beneath the tires and her thoughts. She can’t believe that any of this has happened. She was meant to have a steady job, a relationship by now, anything but drug-dealing roommates and having to live with her boss.

She groans when the sun slips far enough toward the horizon that the visor no longer helps. Thankfully, they’re not too far away from Niall’s, but she loses confidence in her ability to drive while the sun is shining so brightly in her eyes. Claire squints and stretches upwards in her seat, hoping to get enough blockage from the visor that she can finish out the drive without getting into a wreck. It isn’t quite as successful as she would have liked.

Niall, Louis, and Mully are all standing outside by the time Claire parks by the fence. Because they aren’t utter assholes like the cop, they all immediately converge on the car, grabbing a box each once she’s pressed the button to pop the trunk open. Rhiannon grabs the garbage bag of shoes, and Claire’s throat grows tight with appreciation. The fact that they are all so willing to help her without hesitation still sends her head spinning. She takes the shopping bag from the backseat and heads to the trunk to pick up a box.

Once everything is unloaded and stacked neatly against the wall in the guest room, Claire is left alone to put things away. She sits on the end of the bed and stares at the boxes that contain her life. It was easier to move back from New York than it is now, even though it’s certainly a shorter distance. Her eyes burn with tears, and she sniffles, scrubs her hands over her face. She is so tired of crying over the situation. But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop the tears from spilling out, down her cheeks. So she gives herself permission to cry for a few minutes. Just a couple. Then she’ll put her mask on and face reality.


	20. twenty.

Waking up in the guest room feels weird, Claire thinks as she stares blankly at the ceiling, especially when she knows that the reason she’s here isn’t because of working late the night before. Her phone vibrates on the nightstand, _On My Own_ coming through the speakers a second later, and she reaches over to stop the alarm.

The room is already filled with the gentle light of a rising sun, the shadows from the night receding into nonexistence. The blankets are warm, cosy, and she really doesn’t want to get out of bed right now. Knowing she would be here, she’d set her alarm last night for six-thirty instead of the usual six o’clock; that extra thirty minutes of sleep hadn’t done much good - she is still so tired, she feels it in her bones. But the day beckons, and she can’t exactly hide away from her responsibilities. She shoves back the comforter with a sigh, stretching her arms over her head as she makes her way to the boxes that line the room.

“Everybody’s got somebody, but I just wanna be alone,” she sings quietly to herself as she rummages through the boxes for an outfit, making a mental note to unpack at some point so this doesn’t become a part of her morning routine. “I don’t need no one - yeah, fucking right.”

Claire is still humming under her breath when she enters the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed with hair done and teeth brushed and makeup applied; Niall looks up from his laptop, and she waves vaguely in his direction. Her attention is fully on the coffeepot, however. He lets out a soft huff of laughter at how easily she ignores him in favour of wonderful, rich coffee. Mug in hand, Claire sits at the table and pushes her hair behind her ear.

“Morning.”

This seems to be the start of a new routine, and somehow, the next week flies by. Living with Niall and Mully isn’t as awkward as Claire initially feared - sure, she has to make sure she’s fully dressed and ready for the day before exiting the room that’s become hers in the mornings, whereas it was never a problem when she lived with the assholes she called roommates; even though Niall has seen her in her pyjamas a few times, she prefers for him to not have to continue to see that.

It makes her job easier, too, to be a resident of the house: It grants her the ability to be more on top of the things that need done, like the dishes or grocery shopping, whenever they’re home. There have been a few days that they are gone for promos and interviews, but for the most part, they’re usually sat in the living room, working in silence - Claire keeping up with correspondence and scheduling, Niall on… whatever he does.

He surprises her on the eighth day of her living there, calling her name from upstairs. Claire finishes the text to Deirdre, sends it off, then makes her way to her boss. He stands in the doorway to the Mystery Room, beckons her in. She got a small peek into the room two months ago, but she hadn’t seen beyond a sliver through the door. She hesitates but steps into the room. Surprise doesn’t even cover what she feels as she stares around.

An absurd number of guitars gleam in the sunlight from their stands, and the overstuffed chair in the corner invites her to sit in it, to sink into its plush cushion. Claire doesn’t, though, just stands right inside the door with her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. Niall crosses the room to perch on one of the high-backed stools, reaching for the acoustic guitar closest to him. The melody he plays is nothing like what she heard that day that she stood in the hall - it’s seamless, uplifting, and she finds herself almost missing the ugliness of the discordant notes from before.

“Niall?” she murmurs when it becomes evident he isn’t going to speak. “Why am I in here?”

He shrugs but continues strumming, not looking up away from his fingers on the strings. “Figured you were curious about what’s in here, since you nearly got a look before.”

“You…?”

“Yeah, I know about it. Don’t worry, though. Abby did the same, you just lasted a lot longer than she did. I think it was, I wanna say a month before she sneaked a look.” He finally meets her gaze; his eyes are startlingly clear, the blue vivid and electric, bathed in the glow of the sun. “It was… a game, almost, to see how long you’d manage to not look in here. I’ve kept the door open a lot over the last eight and a half months.”

“So it was a test?” Her heart sinks in her chest - does this mean she’s failed?

“No, of course not. ‘Test’ implies there’s a right and wrong answer. Sit down, Claire, please. You’re making me nervous.”

“_I’m_ making _you_ nervous?” she squeaks as she does what he’s asked. The armchair is just as comfortable as it looks. “I, I have no idea what’s going on right now.”

“Okay, I’ll explain,” he sighs at her confused expression. “This room? Only friends come in here. I don’t even let the cleaners in. That’s why Abby told you when you showed up on the first day not to disturb this room. You were a near stranger, not a friend. But, well, I like to think we’ve become friends, so… Welcome in, I suppose is what I’m trying to say.”

“So I’m not, like, in trouble for listening in that day?”

“Nah, I don’t mind. I mean, I mind that I sounded like shite and you heard, but not that you were listening.”

“Can I be honest?”

“I’d rather it.”

“When I heard you playing, it… it wasn’t good. It was jarring, really, the notes didn’t go together. But I think I liked it better than this,” she admits with a vague gesture to the guitar on his lap.

His gaze is intense and searching as it tracks along her face; his brows are pulled tightly together, and he’s frowning. Claire doesn’t think Niall is upset with her, though, so she forces herself to relax. He nods succinctly, smiling somewhat.

“Yeah, it’s funny how a simple melody can hold so much emotion, isn’t it.”

She aches to ask what he means, but the shadows behind his eyes tell her he won’t answer - or maybe that she won’t like the response. She bites back the question, settles into the chair, and listens as the rhythm changes, slows into something sweeter and softer and more hopeful. Something stirs in her chest with the music; Claire has to blink a few times to get rid of the burning in her eyes, but there is little she can do about the hollowness in her bones.

How long she sits there not speaking while he plays, she can’t recall later. All she knows is one moment, they are both lost in their own thoughts, then the next, the spell is broken by the insistent buzzing of his phone on the table between them. Claire jerks from her reverie when the music ends abruptly. Niall is, thankfully, not paying attention to her, so she runs a finger under her eyes and inhales as steadily as possible to provide herself with some stability. He glances up at her as she passes; she mouths a _Thank you_, smiles, then gets the Hell away from the things his music made her feel.

****

{…}

Rhiannon plops down on the patio chair next to her, laughing when Claire jumps at the sudden appearance of her friend. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Your thoughts any good?”

“Good enough, I suppose,” replies Claire with a grin.

Louis, Mully, and Niall are all too absorbed in their conversation to pay attention to the women, but Claire doesn’t mind the lack of attention, especially from Niall. It’s been a peaceful day; she and Niall had spent a couple of days in close quarters in London for interviews, only arriving back this morning, so she hasn’t done much beyond change into a pair of yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Her anxiousness about looking less than put together is nonexistent now - if she’s not on the clock, she doesn’t care.

Since that day a couple of weeks ago in the Mystery Room that’s no longer a mystery, Niall has been more open, seems to smile more quickly and brighter. Claire can’t help but wonder what made him so nervous to show her the room. She hasn’t asked, mostly because it will make things awkward if she does, but the thought lingers in the corner of her mind constantly. She hasn’t had a chance to go back into the room, though she wants to. God, does she want to, if only to sit in the armchair and listen to his fingers picking at the strings, evoking emotions she doesn’t remember feeling before.

“Earth to Claire.” Rhiannon snaps her fingers in front of Claire’s face, giggling. “So how’s it going? Living here, I mean.”

“It’s surprisingly not weird,” Claire admits, shrugs awkwardly.

Rhiannon blinks owlishly at her. “Really? That’s all you’re gonna give me? ‘It’s not weird’? I thought we were friends!”

“We’ve only known each other for, like, two weeks.”

“I’ve made friends faster.”

“You are an odd duck, Rhiannon.”

Rhiannon flashes a bright, proud smile and takes a sip of her drink. Claire knows alcohol probably isn’t a good idea, considering the jet lag, but she can’t deny that the looseness in her muscles and the warmth that fills her chest are wonderful things. So she swallows down the last mouthful of her whisky, shoves herself to her feet, and crosses the patio to refill her glass. Somehow, she gets roped into a conversation with the guys; their voices overlap, words and laughter blending in an unintelligible mass of noise, but Claire tries to follow along as best she can, gives input where she feels able.

Her cheeks are flushed, she can feel the heat beneath the skin, and she’s far more drunk than she anticipated being - it’s evident by the way she allows herself to sway into Niall’s side when he cracks a joke that she doesn’t expect, dissolving into giggles. He pushes her away with a laugh, rolling his eyes as she sticks her tongue out at him. Mully says something that Claire doesn’t catch, but she ignores it, too enthralled by how utterly beautiful Niall is. Now that he’s no longer looking at her, she lets herself stare, just a little bit.

_Holy shit, I’m in love with you_. The thought sends a shiver of something unidentifiable down her spine, and Claire suddenly feels much more sober than thirty seconds ago. She swallows thickly, her words struggling to break free, and stands. Her departure from the table goes unnoticed by the three men, and she breathes a sigh of relief once she steps into the house. Rhiannon passes by, gives her a questioning look. Claire only shakes her head in reply.

As if it was planned, everyone decides to head to bed almost simultaneously. Claire picks up the various beer cans and glasses left around the patio, carrying them into the kitchen to dump them, and Rhiannon kisses her cheek noisily before following Louis up the stairs. Niall locks the doors and windows while Claire finishes rinsing out the glass she used, setting it upside down in the sink. When she turns around, she’s surprised to see him waiting for her.

Neither of them speak as they make their way unsteadily up to the second floor. The heat coming from his body mere inches away is dizzying, more so than the whisky and beer she drank, and it takes all of her willpower to focus on going one step at a time. She comes to a stop outside of her room and turns to Niall. An unreadable expression is on his face; she hesitates then steps closer, stretches up to kiss the corner of his mouth. His head turns minutely, and she exhales sharply as their lips catch slightly. Claire squeezes her eyes closed, drowning in the sense of right and wrong and wanting more, before pulling away.

“Goodnight, Niall,” she whispers, and the weight of his gaze is heavy on her back as she disappears into her room.


	21. twenty-one.

Heart in her throat, Claire eventually forces herself to get dressed in a pair of dark-washed skinny jeans and a nice yet casual blouse, and to leave the guest room the next morning. Her hands shake with trepidation: Is Niall going to bring up what she did last night? If he does, she isn’t sure she can handle the embarrassment or the awkwardness. Voices come from the living room as she makes her way down the hall to the stairs. She recognises Rhiannon’s laughter, and the tension bleeds from her shoulders at the sound. At least Rhi can act as a buffer in case things are uncomfortable.

Niall smiles at Claire when she steps off the stairs, the same smile he’s always given her, and there is no indication that the kiss is on his mind. She breathes a sigh of relief; maybe he was drunk enough that the memory is lost for good. It does little to appease how foolish she feels, how utterly creepy it was for her to kiss him, but for now, it’s enough that she doesn’t want to throw herself off the nearest bridge. So she swallows the lump in her throat and vows to smother any feelings she has for him. She heads to the kitchen to grab some coffee, sidestepping any potential conversation that anybody might want to have.

It takes so much more effort than expected to not give into the urge to kiss Niall again, especially whenever his laughter lights up his face. Claire struggles almost desperately to ignore the stirrings of want that ripple through her as he chats animatedly with Mully and Louis; she’s thankful for Rhiannon’s presence - the other woman keeps her distracted from her thoughts with awful jokes and stories about the bakery she runs. Claire doesn’t think she’s laughed this hard at the antics of people she doesn’t know, but she has to admit that it’s incredibly helpful to prevent her from focusing too much on the torrent of feelings that wait for her attention... as long as she doesn’t look at Niall, anyway.

Unfortunately, Claire is very aware that things are stilted and awkward now between her and Niall. It doesn’t feel right to crack jokes or tease him like she did before; it’s even worse than after the whole New York situation, and that is the hardest thing about it. At least then there had been the chance to fix things - and they had, they managed to get over that uncomfortableness that loomed between them. This, though, this isn’t nearly as simple to fix. She tries to keep things the same, but all of her attempts fall flat, and she ends up crawling into bed at the end of each day wondering just how long she is going to have to deal with this before it becomes too much. And if she spends an hour scrolling through Craigslist and Roomi every night before she falls asleep, it is no one else’s business but hers.

Saturday arrives with a crash of thunder, and the sky splits as lightning forks across the heavy grey. Claire sighs and rolls onto her back. Her sleep had been awful, interrupted by things that slipped from her grasp the instant she woke. Tension grips her muscles tightly, and she frowns at the ache in her bones. The mattress is more comfortable than what she was used to, but it seems to have not mattered at all during the night. Another flash of lightning illuminates the gloom of her room. Claire reaches for her cell phone and groans when she sees it is barely five in the morning. Knowing she isn’t going to get back to sleep again, she shoves back the blankets, pads across her room to the door.

It isn’t until she’s halfway through making a cup of coffee that she feels the presence behind her. Her movements still, and she glances over her shoulder with bated breath. Mully raises a brow when their eyes meet, and Claire remembers belatedly that she hasn’t changed out of her pyjamas. She’s just glad she wore a pair of cotton shorts and a tank-top to bed instead of anything embarrassing. She forces a smile and turns back to her coffee cup. Her heart pounds in her throat as she joins him at the dining table, and he raises his cup in greeting. His voice startles her when he suddenly speaks.

“Is everything okay?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs and stares down into his mug, as if the coffee inside holds the answers to the universe. “You just seem... withdrawn, I suppose. Like there’s something on your mind that you don’t feel comfortable thinking or saying.”

“I’m, I’m okay. I promise. You’re right, there are some things I’m thinking about, but I’m all right.”

The fact that Mully has noticed and commented on her out-of-character behaviour after only being around her regularly for only a month is alarming, and Claire realises that she hasn’t done a good enough job hiding her confusion. He lets the subject drop, changing it to whether or not she’s excited about the upcoming recording session in a week, and she answers him albeit absentmindedly. She admires his sweet personality - she would have long given up on holding conversations with someone who participates about as much as a block of wood, but he persists. She wonders what it means, that he’s so invested in making her feel comfortable and included.

The question lingers on her mind all day, and Niall notices. How could he not when he has to constantly get her attention and repeat whatever he said while she was lost in her own thoughts? Claire is terrified he’ll ask about her distraction, though the fear is unfounded; he merely keeps their talks related to her job and the schedule. After dinner, he disappears up the stairs while Claire cleans up. The click of a door shutting sounds far too loud in the awkward silence of the house, and she reaches for her phone, sending a quick text to her brother to apologise for the lack of her in his life then, before she can think too much of it, sends one to Rhiannon asking if she wants to come over.

Light streams from under the door to the No-Longer-A-Mystery Room, and Claire hesitates but knocks anyway. The soft piano notes cut off abruptly, Niall calls out for her to enter. She pokes her head into the room and manipulates her lips into a semblance of a smile.

“Rhi is coming over, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. You know you don’t have to get permission, right? You live here, too.”

“Just wanted to be courteous is all. Do you need anything?”

“Nah, I think I’m okay. Try not to get too drunk tonight, please.”

“Yeah, I’ll leave that to you.”

The words are out before she can stop them, and Claire slaps a hand over her mouth as Niall’s eyes widen in surprise. She squeaks out a mortified _I am so sorry_ then rushes from the room, not even bothering to make sure the door closes fully behind her. Her cheeks are burning with her embarrassment, and her blood roars in her ears. She can’t believe she said that. She has tried so hard to keep things light, away from the discomforting topics such as the night she took care of him while he was drunk, but here she is blurting out a comment like _that_.

Rhiannon’s voice calls out for her, echoes through the house, but Claire can’t speak. She’s still too upset with herself for saying what she did. She doesn’t look away from where her feet dangle over the edge of the pool, the water warping the shape of her toes, even when her friend drops to sit next to her. Rhiannon nudges her gently then peels off her shoes and socks, rolls up the hems of her jeans. Claire has no idea what to say, so she says nothing.

“So you’re awesome and all,” Rhiannon comments lightly after five minutes of quiet has gone by, “but I seriously doubt you invited me over so we could sit here in silence.”

“I’m in love with Niall.”

The words hang heavily in the air between them. Judging by the way Rhiannon closes her mouth with a clacking of her teeth and a sharp inhale, Claire knows that she’s startled the other woman. Crickets chirp in the grass, stars shine overhead, and she feels so insignificant right now. The weight of her emotions threaten to consume her, swallow her whole and refuse to show mercy as she drowns.

“Wow. So... you just came right out with that. Wow. Okay. Let’s unpack this.” She sighs and takes a drink from her water bottle. “How long have you felt like this?”

Claire sighs, hunching in on herself. “A few months, I think. It didn’t really hit me until the night you stayed after I moved in. I mean, there’s always been some attraction- have you _seen_ him?” Rhiannon snorts to her left, and Claire lets her friend link their fingers together. Maybe having contact will help make it easier to get this confession out. “And his personality is so fucking amazing. Like, normally, someone acts like a total sweetheart in public, but they’re major assholes behind closed doors. That’s not him, though, and it’s refreshing. But the feelings have only gotten stronger, no matter what I do, and now that I’m living with him? There’s no hope in Hell of me fighting them and keeping them locked away.”

“Why do it? Why ignore the feelings instead of going with them?”

“He’s my boss, Rhi. We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“You could. Don’t shake your head at me. You really could. You just gotta tell him.”

“Yeah, and lose my job because he doesn’t feel the same and things will be awkward as fuck.” Claire kicks her feet out a little, watching the waves ripple across the surface of the illuminated water. “I... I just have to learn to be okay with the friendship we have. It should be enough. So why isn’t it?”

“Dude -”

“Rhi, can you give me and Claire some privacy please?”


	22. twenty-two.

Claire nearly chokes on the air she’s inhaling, and her heart erupts into a thunderous pace under her ribs. She stares, wide-eyed and panicking, at the surface of the pool and wonders if she can learn to live and breathe in the chlorinated water within the next five seconds. Rhiannon releases her hand and clambers to her feet, murmuring that she’ll just head home but she’s only a text away if Claire needs her; Claire wants to beg her to stay, but she stays quiet, unable to speak in the silence that echoes deafeningly following Niall’s request. The doors leading inside close, and soft footsteps cross the patio. His bare feet come into view before dropping into the pool next to hers.

Claire avoids looking at Niall - she has no idea how much he heard, but she is almost entirely certain that this conversation isn’t going to be a pleasant one for her. From the corner of her eye, she sees his head drop back, exposing the column of his throat, as he gazes up at the stars in the sky. She shivers at the scent of his cologne that floats through the air between them, fills her nose.

“I thought I dreamt you kissing me,” he admits suddenly without taking his eyes off the nighttime sky. “I’d had a lot to drink, after all, and it... it wouldn’t have been the first time my brain told me something happened that didn’t. It wasn’t until I felt like you were avoiding me that I realised I didn’t.”

“I didn’t want to make things awkward,” whispers Claire; her lips are numb, wooden, and her heart still hasn’t calmed from its painful rhythm.

Niall snorts, catching her eye for the first time since he came outside. “And what, you didn’t think changing the _entire_ dynamic of our interactions would do that? We went from sarcastic comments and witty remarks to ‘Anything else, Niall? No?’ Boom, you’d disappear. That made things awkward.”

She swings her legs gently, watches as the ripples distort the view of her feet. Her head is swimming with nervousness, the uncertainty, and her thoughts race around each other. The only thing that’s clear is she doesn’t know what he hopes to gain from this conversation. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I need you to be honest with me.”

Honesty is a hard thing, but Claire knows that she owes him that much. After all, he has been an amazing boss, tolerant of her sarcasm and difficulties keeping her temper in check, and he’s given her a place to live after the whole debacle with her roommates. So she swallows the lump in her throat and manages to tell him, no matter how awkward and stilted her words are, about the fact that she has been attracted to him from the beginning.

Niall stays quiet, listening intently as she explains that the attraction morphed from simple and easy to actual feelings not too long into her having the job, that it’s just gotten stronger and harder to ignore the longer she’s been here. She steals a glance at him, unsurprised by the serious expression on his face - one thing she has learnt in the last nine months is that when Niall finds something important, he focuses solely on that particular thing. Claire has to admit that she finds it reassuring that he thinks this talk is important.

A hazy memory wiggles to the forefront of her mind, and she turns her head so he can’t see the way her cheeks go aflame. “Did... did you kiss my forehead? That morning in the hotel in New York, after we got snowed in?”

“I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Niall replies after a long minute, his voice oddly strangled. When she looks at him, his face has turned a brilliant red.

“Well, it seems we both have a proclivity for thinking we’ve dreamt up kisses.”

“It appears so.” Niall inhales slowly, and Claire chews on her lower lip while he taps his fingertips against his thigh. “I’ll be honest with you, since you were honest with me. I’ve, well, I’ve wanted to talk to you about the possibility of, er, moving things from a strictly boss-employee relationship to a real one. Where we go on dates and do things a couple does.”

Now, Claire’s heart races for a different reason. She drags in a shaky breath and stares down at her feet. “I wouldn’t be comfortable with that, I don’t think.” When he’s quiet, she looks up at him, can see how hard he tries to keep his expression neutral, but there is no denying that his face falls at her words. She rushes to explain, “I mean, I couldn’t be your PA while I’m dating you. It would feel too... weird, I guess is the best way to say it, to do my duties as an assistant while also, y’know, reaping the benefits of a stable relationship.”

He huffs out a laugh, tension bleeding from his body. She shifts to face him as he does the same. “That makes sense. So, Claire Hunter, this is me officially firing you. You are hereby released of your responsibilities as my personal assistant.”

“Wow. I’ve been fired loads of times, but I think this is the first time I’ve ever been _excited_ about it.”

His bright smile splits his face, and Claire can’t stop her giggles even when he leans forward slowly enough that she can reject it. She meets him halfway, struggling to bite back her nervous laughter. The kiss is awkward because of the angle, but it’s far better than she thought it would be: soft, sweet, just the right amount of pressure. Claire has had plenty of first kisses in her life, and not one of them has ever been this effortlessly wonderful. She pulls away with a lightness in her chest, darting back in to kiss the grin off Niall’s lips.

“I have to tell you now, this doesn’t mean I’m instantly going to jump into your bed.”

“Why the Hell would I think it did?”

“It’s nothing against you, I promise. I’ve just... I’ve learnt to be firm with my expectations and boundaries.”

Niall frowns, and Claire hopes he doesn’t ask the question she knows is on his mind. Thankfully, he doesn’t. He just strokes his thumb across her cheekbones, ducking down to kiss her again. She shivers at the tender contact; they climb to their feet after a few minutes, and Claire hesitates but laces their fingers together. He doesn’t let her let go even when he locks up the house. She laughs quietly as she’s tugged after him, but it isn’t much of an inconvenience - this is what she wants, and she’s not about to put a stop to the connection if she has a choice. He follows her up the stairs, and she comes to a stop outside of her door. In a mimicry of that night, she steps closer, leans up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His lips quirk, he turns his head to catch her mouth with his.

  
Rhiaaaaannonnnn  
  
**Claire says:** I lost my job because of you. Thanks.  
  
**Rhiannon says:** OH NO! I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he would be the kind of guy who would fire you over things being awkward. I’ll kick his ass, I swear it.  
  
**Claire says:** Nah, don’t. Not worth it. I guess this just means my boyfriend will have to give me a super good recommendation when I go job hunting again.  
  
**Rhiannon says:** .........I’ll be there first thing in the morning, and you WILL TELL ME EVERYTHING.  


Claire snorts in amusement, sends back a thumbs up emoji, and tosses her phone onto the nightstand. She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. Today certainly hasn’t gone the way she anticipated, but she has zero complaints. Niall’s kisses linger on her lips, she can feel the ghost of his breath on her face. Her heart settles in her ribs, and she falls asleep still smiling.


	23. twenty-three.

A door closes down the hall, and Claire listens to the footsteps heading toward the staircase. She doesn’t want to move, though she knows she has to. She may have been fired not even twelve hours ago, but that has little bearing on the fact that she is meant to go with Niall to this radio interview - she can probably get out of it if she wants, but… she doesn’t. She quite enjoys watching him do his job. Besides, not going with him will only open the door for people to ask questions.

Sighing heavily, she makes her way to the closet to pull out a pair of skinny jeans and a golden-yellow blouse, pairing the top with a black blazer. Niall hasn’t come down from his room by the time Claire is dressed with her hair pulled back into a sleek bun. Mully raises his mug in greeting but doesn’t speak as she moves about to get her coffee. They sit at the table in silence for a few minutes - him focusing on eating his breakfast, her on her coffee - before the quiet is interrupted by the lock sliding out of place and the front door swinging open; Rhiannon’s voice echoes through the foyer a split second later, calling for Claire to get her butt ready to talk.

“Shout louder, Rhi, I think there might be a remote village in the furthest corners of Antarctica that hasn’t heard you.”

Rhiannon scrunches up her face but holds up a McDonald’s bag. Claire’s stomach rumbles at the mouthwatering aroma of greasy hashbrowns and sausage. Mully laughs quietly when she nearly trips over the chair in her rush to get to the food. She follows Rhi out to the back deck and plops into one of the loungers, making grabby hands at the bag. Rhiannon rolls her eyes and passes over a wrapped sandwich. The morning is already hot, the sun not even halfway into the sky. Claire frowns around the mouthful of biscuit and sausage, wonders if it was a smart idea to wear a dark jacket. She carefully shrugs out of it, draping it over the arm of her chair, then goes back to eating her sandwich.

“So obviously, I am beyond thrilled that you and Nialler are together - I’ve been wondering if he’d get his head out of his ass for a bit now.” Rhi snorts in amusement at Claire’s confused expression. “Look, I like to think I know Niall pretty well after being friends with him for so long, so I knew he was super into someone. Okay, actually, in all truth, Louis told me about Niall’s feelings for you because he was sick of listening to Niall make excuses as to why you two couldn’t be together. Anyway. I’m so, so, so glad you two stopped being such dumbasses and got together. But I swear, if you _ever_ make me feel bad and freak out like that again, I will kick your ass.”

“Ow! Stop smacking me, damn. I’m sorry!”

Rhiannon lets her hand fall to her lap. “Seriously, though, I’m happy for you guys. Oh! You know what we should do?”

“Don’t say -”

“Double-date!”

Rhiannon giggles as Claire rolls her eyes. She adores Rhi - it’s hard not to, considering how much fun it is to be around the other woman, and Rhiannon has just the right kind of sense of humour that makes it easy to laugh whenever they talk - but a double-date has never been on the list of things Claire would ever prefer to do, especially not this soon into a relationship. Really, planning a date with the other couple only thirteen hours after starting the relationship? Not the best idea in the world. Rhi’s mischievous grin promises that she isn’t going to let this particular subject go.

Rhiannon has to leave after another twenty minutes, demanding that Claire pass the message to Niall that she expects a text or phone call as soon as he’s awake. Claire promises to tell him right before the front door shuts, and Mully’s chuckle fills the living room. She shrugs awkwardly before heading toward the stairs. It’s almost nine, and the interview is meant to start at eleven. Biting her lip, she lets herself do a happy little jig on the landing - making sure no one can see her, of course. Her lack of dancing skills isn’t something she is proud of.

Niall smiles brightly when they bump into each other just outside of his bedroom. His fingers brush over the curve of her cheek, then he leans in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Good morning, love.”

“Hi. You need to call or send Rhi a text asap, and we should probably head out now if you want to make it to the radio station on time.”

“You’re not my assistant any more,” he reminds her softly, though his lips twitch with amusement. “You don’t need to keep track of my schedule.”

“Hey, I have the next two weeks’ worth of crap memorised because I _was_ your assistant, so you’re just gonna have to deal with it, Mister Horan.”

He kisses her cocky smirk away then laces their fingers together. Claire lets him lead her down the stairs; a questioning noise comes from the living room, and she glances over her shoulder to see Mully staring at their entwined hands. When his gaze meets hers, he gives her a thumbs-up. Warmth flares to life, diffuses through her body - she knows how important he is to Niall, so for him to approve of the relationship… she is definitely thankful for that, considering if he didn’t, it would mean a chance of Niall breaking up with her before their relationship could even get off the ground.

Claire swivels in the chair, head bobbing to the beat of the song that’s playing on the air at the moment. It’s something poppy with a thumping rhythm, and her toes tap along. Niall catches her eye, grins at seeing her enjoying her time, and she knows her smile is softer than the situation calls for; she can’t help it, though. After almost a year of having this man in her life, she’s grown quite attached to him, and now that they have moved beyond employer/employee into something much more, much greater, Claire doesn’t want to pretend that he isn’t so important to her - or that she’s fallen further for him than she ever has for any other man.

Eventually, the interview is finished. The hosts shake hands with Niall, completely ignoring Claire in the corner, which works for her. She isn’t the focus of anything going on this morning, and if anyone looks at her right now, they’re going to be able to read her emotions as clearly as if she screamed them from the rooftops. So she gathers up her bag and fights to keep her expression as neutral as possible. She does, however, take the opportunity to stare at Niall’s ass as she follows him to the car. She’s only human, after all.

“What do you say to some lunch?” she asks once they’ve buckled up, and he frowns, chews on his lower lip. “Don’t worry, I know a place where we won’t be bothered. At least, not in the way you’re worried about.”

“I’m trusting you,” is all he says in response.

“Awful idea, really, but okay.”

Niall follows her directions to a T, without questioning their destination or voicing any of his concerns. Claire is thankful for that - she’s already doubting her decision. This could go so far ass over teakettle, but she wants to share this with him. They still do not know each other incredibly well, not past the stuff closest to the surface, no matter that they have been in each other’s life for going on ten months now. And this place is something she’s never shared with anyone else, not even Deirdre or her parents. So she sits back in her seat, wipes her sweaty palms along her thighs, and prays to every god that has ever been worshipped that she isn’t going to regret bringing Niall to Ma’s.


	24. twenty-four.

Edna looks up from where she’s counting out change for a customer. Claire bites on the inside of her cheek to stop her smile at the shocked expression on the other woman’s face. The surprise melts away, replaced with an hopeful sort of excitement. Claire rolls her eyes affectionately and heads toward the booth she usually occupies with her brother. Niall slides onto the bench across from her; he isn’t paying attention to her, too busy taking in their surroundings and all the photographs on the walls. She can pinpoint the exact second he sees the photo of her in her prom dress.

“You looked beautiful,” he says quietly, and Claire’s cheeks heat up with the compliment. “So you’ve been coming here for a while, I see.”

“Yeah, since I was thirteen.”

His smile is soft and sweet at the edges, but then his brows furrow. He leans closer and whispers, “That guy is staring at us.”

Claire looks around to see who he’s talking about, stifling a giggle when it turns out to be Gerald. She waves, and the old man raises his coffee cup before turning back to his meal. “That’s just Gerald. He’s harmless… I think.”

Before Niall can respond, Edna approaches the table. Claire is pretty sure that if the woman was in a cartoon, she would be visibly vibrating in place with those wiggle-motion lines around her. As it is, Edna can’t contain the grin; she doesn’t bother asking what Claire wants to eat, turning immediately to Niall. He startles, and Claire belatedly remembers that he hasn’t been here before. She grabs the menu from his hand and takes the initiative to order for him. Having been in close contact with him for so long means that she has a slight inkling as to what he might enjoy here. He gives her a confused look, and she smiles as reassuringly as she can.

“You trusted me about coming here, so trust me now when I say you will not regret eating anything that Charlie makes.”

Claire jerks in surprise at the choked-off squeal that comes from Edna, but the woman waves her off and disappears into the back. Claire is almost a hundred percent sure that she’s currently exploding on Charlie, letting him know every single detail. Claire’s just sad that Edna has probably forgotten to bring their drinks. Thankfully, the company she is with is enough to distract her, even though _he_ is distracted by the photos on the wall. His gaze keeps going back to the one of Tim and Claire on the night of her prom.

She hates that picture, really - her makeup is messed up from crying, her face splotchy, and it brings back the phantom pains of discovering her date hooking up with the cheerleading captain. She hadn’t ever been head-over-heels for Devin, but still, a boy shouldn’t be going around having sex with another girl when he has a date. It’s just common courtesy. She has to admit that she misses that dress. Pale gold and shimmering under the lights, it had made her feel like an actual, bona fide princess. She wonders idly if her mom still has it.

“Is _that_ man harmless, too?”

Claire drags her gaze away from Niall’s face, her face splitting with a grin when she sees the burly, scowling man walking their way. She stands and wraps her arms around his neck, murmuring that she’s missed his handsome face; grumpy expression aside, Charlie is a softie, as evidenced by the way he hugs her back just as tightly. He nods succinctly when they part.

“How ya been, kid?”

“Honestly? I really have not ever been better. Oh! Charlie, this is Niall, my former boss. Niall, this is Charlie.”

Charlie and Niall shake hands, and Claire watches as Charlie sizes up her boyfriend. “Nice to meet ya. Belle drive you insane to the point of firin’ her, then?”

“What?” Niall gapes for a second then rushes to assure them, “No! She’s, she’s wonderful.”

“Yeah, we know this.” He gives Claire one of his rare smiles and gestures toward the kitchen. “Better get back there, or you’re liable to get burnt bricks ’stead of burgers.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Can you please tell Ma we’re still waiting for our drinks? This is just awful service, and she might not get a tip at this rate.”

Charlie’s chuckle is gravelly, familiar, and Claire takes her seat again, heart clenching in her chest. Niall gives her a questioning look.

“Ma?”

Claire settles back in her seat and sighs heavily, wonders where to begin. “So when I was thirteen, I was super into this guy. Jess. He was so cool - or so I thought. Anyway, he broke my heart, and Tim was an awesome big brother and wanted to cheer me up. So we drove around for a bit until he spotted this place. It became our tradition. Anytime something good happened? We’d come here. Anytime something bad happened? Here. After a couple months, we just started coming every weekend. Then prom happened.”

He reaches across the table, his fingers wrapping around her hand, as she tells him about the debacle that occurred when she was eighteen. It’s easier than anticipated to talk about it; she has avoided dredging up those memories for years, examining them with the experience and maturity she’s gained over the years, but Niall listens intently and offers only the strong, silent comfort that reminds her it is all in the past. That she has something much better to look forward to.

Her words cut off abruptly as two glasses are placed on the table, and Claire smiles up at Edna. The woman gives their entwined hands an approving look, though she doesn’t say anything about it. Claire pulls her hand back when the woman sets the plates down. Niall stares at his burger with an awestruck expression on his face. She stifles a giggle and reaches for the ketchup. Charlie certainly has outdone himself, the sandwiches picturesque and perfect and larger than usual.

Edna moves away once the couple has taken their first bites. Claire knows she is going to inform Charlie that his food was well-received - and that Claire and Niall were holding hands. Claire is honestly a bit struck dumb at how composed Edna was, but she shrugs it off. The composure isn’t going to last, so she might as well enjoy it. She is proven right by the heavy weight of Edna watching them closely throughout the meal. She loves Edna, has since the Belle of the Bowl was conceived, but the woman can be a little much if one is unaccustomed to her personality.

Plates cleared, Claire watches Niall settle back on the bench, his hand resting on his stomach. She sucks her lower lip between her teeth and shrugs.

“Want dessert?”

He huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. “I really don’t think I could eat any more. That was…”

“Yeah, Charlie kinda hates the idea of anybody leaving here still hungry.”

“Don’t you dare say no,” Edna orders as she slides a small plate onto the table between them. Claire would think the slice of pie was fake if she didn’t know how obsessive Charlie is about his food; the crust is perfectly golden and flaky, cherries cascading from the middle in a syrupy puddle. “That old man would be devastated if you two didn’t at least enjoy some dessert before running off.”

Claire snorts - she can recognise the guilt-trip from an ocean away, but she exchanges a glance with Niall, says, “Well, we don’t wanna disappoint Charlie, do we?”

“Of course not.”

Niall is smiling even as he picks up his fork. With a quick _thanks_ to Edna, Claire follows suit. The first bite is the amazing blend of sweet and tart, her tongue coated in an explosion of sour-sugar. She manages to quell the moan that threatens to burst from her, instead focusing on the microexpressions on her boyfriend’s face as he eats. She knows by the slight widening of his eyes, the hesitation before he chews, that the pie is just as delicious to him as it is to her.

Claire waits until Edna’s too engrossed in talking to Gerald before dropping a fifty-dollar bill on the table. She grabs Niall’s hand and tugs him quickly toward the door. He follows after her without question, but she doesn’t miss the confusion in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything as they cross the car park to slide into the car, though she isn’t surprised that the enquiries start while he pulls out of the lot.

“So, er, what was that all about?”

Her shoulders rise and fall in a jerky motion. “Ma keeps trying to give me free food. I keep trying to make her take my money. It’s a tradition.”

“I’m really glad we went. Thanks.”

“Thanks for trusting me about it.” She pauses, stares out the window. “It means a lot that you would.”

“Have you taken anyone else there?” he asks hesitantly, and his shoulders lose the tension when she tells him no.

“Not even Dee, even though she’s begged me to. So you should feel special.”

Niall’s eyes sparkle in the sunshine when he looks across the car at her, and there’s an emotion in them that she can’t quite read. His lips quirk up at the corners, soft and tender and saying more than words. “I do.”


	25. twenty-five.

Claire wiggles into a pair of shorts, nearly falling on her face as she tries to walk before they are even halfway up her legs. She groans and stands still long enough to yank them the rest of the way, buttons them quickly. They only stopped by the house long enough to change from the clothes they wore to the interview and lunch into an outfit more suitable for the walk they planned on the drive back; she’s sure that Niall is already done changing, and she doesn’t want to keep him waiting too long.

Grabbing a pair of tennis shoes from the box in the bottom of her closet, she drops them to the floor and steps into them, wincing in frustration when her socks bunch up under her toes. She hurriedly fixes the problem then makes her way to the door. Her footsteps are loud, echoing in the quiet of the house, as she thunders down the stairs, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail on the way. She slows her steps and makes sure her phone is safely tucked away in her back pocket; Niall stands by the front door by the time she comes to a stop at his side. He grins at her, reaches for her hand. Claire allows him to tug her closer, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him gently.

“Hi. You ready to go?”

He doesn’t respond, just pulls the front door open. She follows him out onto the front stoop, turns her face up to the hot sunshine that beats down on the earth, and sighs happily while he locks up. The drive is quiet, but it’s comfortable; Claire is more focused on the feeling of his hand around hers, his thumb pressing gentle circles into her skin, and fighting the urge to kiss him senseless. It is impossible to believe that he chose her. They’ve only been dating for a day - not even - and it could still go completely ass over teakettle. She knows this, though she doesn’t care. It’s easier to pretend those worries aren’t taking residence in the darkest corners of her mind.

Brush Canyon Trail stretches out before them, and Claire swallows down the sudden anxieties. This is their first foray out in public that isn’t a professional setting where it will be easy to mistake her for his employee. She has never come with him on his hikes - she’s left those up to Mully and John. But now here she is with him, about to embark on a walk with him with no risk of being considered nothing more than his personal assistant. Thankfully, that voice in her head that says this is an enormous error that has the potential to destroy them is a small one, and the larger part of her, the part that’s ecstatic with this development, is much louder. _Oh_, she thinks when his fingers lace with hers, and her heart starts racing in her chest. _This is happening then…_

Claire is completely unsurprised that it takes less than five minutes before people start taking pictures. She _is_ shocked that Niall is so at ease with the physical contact when he values his privacy so much. She doesn’t voice her questions, though, just accepts that this is A Thing. She lets out a shaky breath and forces herself to relax. There is no sense in making this awkward. Many couples hold hands when they’re together. Sure, most of them aren’t celebrities now dating their freshly-fired personal assistants, but Claire finds that irrelevant. Niall glances at her from the corner of his eye, his gaze darting down to their entwined hands.

“Oh. Sorry. Are… are you okay with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You made a huge thing about me being only your boss to the media before, so, I dunno, I wasn’t sure if this was too much.”

Claire sighs and shrugs, smiles without feeling at the woman who jogs past them. “I mean, that was because you _were_ only my boss. Then. Now, you don’t sign my paychecks. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”

“Even when all the articles come out about how you only got the job because we were sleeping together?” He rolls his eyes at her confused expression, obviously misreading what she is puzzled about; is this his way of trying to make her re-think the decision to start a relationship with him? “They’re going to come, Claire.”

Claire looks around to make sure that they’re as alone as possible, then pulls him off to the side. He stares down at her with an unreadable expression on his face, and she sighs, holds his hands tightly in hers. “I am well aware of this. Niall, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy - I’ve seen what they say about Rhiannon and Louis, all of your exes and you, Harry and his previous girlfriends… I know it’s going to suck, and it’s going to be uncomfortable, I get that. Even with that, I have no doubts that I’ll be fine. I mean, I’ll have you, Rhi, Mully… Hell, my parents and Tim, Dee, too. I would tell you if I didn’t think I could handle it or if it got to be too much. But I, I’ve gotten to know you damn well over the last year, and I like to think you’re worth it.”

His breath comes out in a sharp exhale through his nose, and Niall shakes his head with a tiny smile. He tugs his hands from her grip; his palms cup her cheeks, and she moves with him, the sweetness of the kiss dizzying and beautiful and everything right in the world. She knocks his hands away to loop her arms around his neck, and he huffs out a laugh and pulls her closer. Claire is very much mindful of the fact that this is probably too much PDA for being out and about, that others are more than likely taking photos of them right now to post online and sell to the gossip rags, but she focuses on the tingling sensation that spreads through her body and the lightness that fills her. When they part, he rests his forehead against hers.

“You are incredible,” he murmurs softly, and the tender, questioning tone in his voice sends a spike of fear through her, “and I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“_You_ didn’t do anything. Your ass did all the work.”

Her attempt to lighten the aura around them is successful - his serious expression fades as he laughs, kissing her again; it’s messy, interrupted by the fact he can’t stop chuckling. She steps back and holds out a hand. He takes it easily, pulling her back to the trail. She’s much less scared about the risks she’s running in regards to them dating, she’s too thrilled with how he makes her feel to be able to keep holding onto those doubts. The air tastes sweeter when she breathes in deeply, hot rays from the sun soaking into her flesh, the world expanding beyond view but beckoning her to launch herself off the nearest cliff and join the stars in the sky, become one with the atoms of the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things: 
> 
> first: i only slept a whopping one hour last night. today should be _funnnnnn_! 
> 
> second: i was trying to figure out the timeline for this story last night, and... i messed it all up. like, none of the dates whatsoever match up to real life, so we’re just gonna ignore that bit of inconsistency, yeah? 
> 
> also (i know, i know, i said “two” things but again, one. hour. of. sleep. my brain does what it wants at this point), there will be another chapter tomorrow, because i love y’all so much - and because i updated “feels like forever” twice and i hate uneven updating. 
> 
> anyway, i’m off to get ready for my brain to be shrunk then come home and drink an entire pot of coffee.


	26. twenty-six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of those rare times that having "creator's work skin" turned **on** is important, or this chapter will probably be formatted weird, especially toward the end. 
> 
> enjoy!  
xx

Claire leans heavily into Niall’s side as they make their way back to the car. Her legs ache from the hike; she is accustomed to walking - being a personal assistant has meant copious amounts of walking, but at least then she was allowed to sit and take breaks every so often. She and Niall had been far too engrossed in talking and silence, just enjoying each other’s presence, that it was easy to ignore the growing fatigue in her muscles. Now, though, her entire body screams its desire to collapse and never move again.

Niall helps her into the car, wincing in sympathy when she groans at the way her legs cramp. She waves off his concern and lets him close the door. As soon as he’s in the driver’s seat, she turns her head to stare at him. She knows he can tell that he’s under scrutiny, the quirk of his lips tells her that much, but he doesn’t mention it as he focuses on the road ahead of them. He does, however, reach out to link their hands together once the car has merged with the rest of LA’s traffic. Claire raises their hands, presses a kiss to the back of his knuckles, then leans forward to turn on the radio. She snorts inelegantly when she hears _I guess I got kinda used to being someone you loved_.

“What’s so funny?”

Claire shrugs and turns the volume down just a little. “Nothing. I just… I want to just, like, hug him super-hard and tell him everything is going to be okay every time I hear this song.”

Niall glances at her from the corner of his eyes though he stays quiet. She doesn’t doubt that he understands what she means - as a musician, he probably understands better than most.

She surprisingly hasn’t met Lewis in person, though she’s overheard some of Niall’s FaceTime calls with the other singer a few times; he seems like a total sweetheart, and his sense of humour is utterly hilarious. And for him to make music that is so completely heartbreaking… He’s certainly talented, and Claire is excited to see where his career takes him, just as much as she’s excited to see the same for Niall’s.

The rest of the drive passes rather quickly, even with the traffic. Claire wants to talk about - well, whatever comes to mind, but she rather enjoys the easy quiet between them. So she just holds his hands, sings along to the radio, and wonders what the rest of the day has in store for the two of them. There is nothing on the schedule; that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have other plans he wants to attend to. She mentally shrugs it off and waits until he’s pulled up in front of the fence to unbuckle her seatbelt. He helps her out of the car and into the house; it isn’t necessary, since the drive has helped ease some of the aching in her muscles, but Claire isn’t going to reject any chance to have his hands on her.

Claire leans over the back of the couch to press a loud kiss to Niall’s cheek, passing over a water bottle before flopping onto the cushion next to him. “So, uh, after our wonderful jaunt, during which I’m sure many people got photographs of us, I figure I should probably tell my family about us before they find out through the media.” She pauses, chewing on her lower lip for a moment, before drawing in a deep breath. “Are you okay with that?”

“Of course. I’d rather they know than you keep our relationship a secret, especially from those you love.”

  
**Claire says:** Tim-Tam… pleeeeeease don’t hate me…  


Tim’s response takes a few minutes, but when it does, all it contains is a string of question marks. Niall tugs her around until she’s leaning against him, his arm around her shoulders and crossing over her collarbone, and she smiles up at him before focusing on texting her brother.

  
**Claire says:** I lost my job.  
**Claire says:** But it’s okay!  
**Claire says:** I obtained a boyfriend in its place!!!!  
  
**Tim-Tam says:** UR DATING UR BOSS???????!!  
  
**Claire says:** Not my boss any more. But yes. I am indeed dating him.  
  
**Tim-Tam says:** About damn time belle! Can I tell Dee?  
  
**Claire says:** Let me tell Mom and Dad first, because you know Dee is gonna blow my damn phone up with texts and calls once she finds out  
  
**Tim-Tam says:** U have 1 hr  


Claire shakes her head, shifts until her head is on her boyfriend’s lap. His fingers come up to play with her hair, and she lets out a soft sigh at the sensation. She has always loved having her hair played with. He stays quiet as she finds her mother’s name in her Contacts list, tapping on it. She puts the call on speakerphone and waits; her heart is racing in her chest. She doesn’t understand why. This certainly isn’t the first time she’s ever told her parents about a boyfriend. Niall might be the first one, though, for whom her parents’ approval means everything.

“And there’s my favourite daughter.”

Claire pauses. “Mom? I’m your _only_ daughter.”

“No, I have Dee, too.”

“I’m totally telling her you said I’m your favourite!”

“Claire Annabelle, you dare do that, and you’ll be grounded for months.”

“I… am not even going to touch that. So, uh, you got a minute?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

Claire brings up Instagram in hopes of distracting herself from how nervous she is, scrolling mindlessly through the feed. “So, I kinda lost my job last night.”

“Oh, no! Are you serious? What the Hell for? Baby, do you need me to beat up your dumb boss for you? Just give me his address and I will, I swear it.”

“No, no, Mom! It’s okay, I promise,” Claire rushes to assure her mother, giggles wildly at the fear and shock on Niall’s face. “It’s not necessary to kick his ass. It was a, um, mutual termination of employment, if you will. I mean, it’s awkward enough dating someone with_out_ them being your boss.”

“Claire, I think you better back up and explain from the beginning, because I know you aren’t telling me you’re dating your boss,” her mom says slowly after a pregnant pause.

“I’m absolutely not dating my boss. He fired me _before_ our relationship started.”

Another long silence, then: “I suppose this means I should tell Elsie that Ben should look elsewhere for a girlfriend?”

Claire snorts with laughter, slapping a hand over her face. The nervousness has faded away; a giddy kind of happiness takes its place. “Yes, Mom, that’s exactly what this means. Wait, Ben is still single? It’s been, like, ages.”

“I’m not entirely sure, actually. Elsie and I aren’t really on speaking terms at the moment. She insulted my African violets. Anyway. I’m happy for you, Belle. So when ya bringing him around so we can meet him?”

“I’ll have him check his schedule so we can plan something.”

“I think Sunday is open,” Niall whispers, and Claire stifles a groan - of course he’d unwittingly choose that particular day. He frowns down at her. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah, everything’s cool. We’ll be there Sunday, Mom.”

“Good. Tim, Dee, and the kids will be here, too, so he should fit right in!”

“I don’t think that’s as reassuring as you think it is, Mom, but okay, I gotta go. Dee’s gonna be blowing up my phone in a minute. See you this weekend, I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.”

Claire sighs in relief once she hangs up. Niall runs a hand through her hair, and she closes her eyes. She told her mother the truth - her sister-in-law will be sending a barrage of texts any minute now, and having a phone call interrupted by a never-ending series of beeps isn’t conducive to any sort of conversation. Sighing heavily, she unlocks her phone and sends a text to her brother that says nothing but “_Release the Kraken_.” Not even two minutes later, her phone starts vibrating and doesn’t stop, and each incoming message makes Claire laugh harder than the previous.

Dee-licious  
  
**Dee-licious says:** ARE YOU SERIOUS?!  
**Dee-licious says:** YOU’RE DATING HIM NOW?  
**Dee-licious says:** Tell me Tim isn't lying to me  
**Dee-licious says:** Because if he is, I’m totally divorcing him for fucking with my emotions like this!!!!!  
**Dee-licious says:** OMG BELLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEE.  
**Dee-licious says:** Tell me EVERYTHING. Right now.  
**Dee-licious says:** Please tell me you’re planning on getting some  
**Dee-licious says:** You’ll have to tell me what it’s like.  
**Dee-licious says:** I bet  
  
  
**Dee-licious says:** OH! Show your boo this. P L E A S E.  
  
  


Claire can’t help it - the phone falls from her hand, and she falls off the couch with the force of her laughter. Niall yelps which only causes her to laugh even harder. He leans over, his face scrunched up in concern.

“Are you okay?”

In response, she fumbles for her phone, passes it over. He lets out a strangled noise when he reads the texts, and Claire takes pleasure from how rapidly his cheeks flush a brilliant red. He hands the phone back to her then helps her back onto the couch; she curls into his side once more, still giggling, and wipes at her eyes. Niall kisses her forehead and shakes his head.

“Your sister is a, er, very interesting person.”

“Just think - you’ll be meeting her in person on Sunday!”

The look Niall gives her, one full of nervousness and tinged with fear, sends her into another fit of giggling.


	27. twenty-seven.

Claire sighs and refreshes the webpage. She’s spent the past seven hours sat on the couch, scrolling through job-listings sites in hopes of finding _something_ that stands out to her, while Niall’s gone off with Mully and Paul to do whatever they had planned. The house has been too quiet without the guys - even listening to Pandora hasn’t helped ease the weird, stifling silence.

She knows she can text her brother and Deirdre for any help in finding a new job. Deirdre is oddly connected with random places all over the city, and Tim has been adamant about moving mountains for his little sister. But the last thing she wants to do is rely on anyone else, especially considering she got - and subsequently lost - the gig working for Niall because of her brother.

Dee’s texts had finally stopped last night after an hour of nonstop buzzing, none of them making sense after the GIFs she sent. Claire eventually set her phone to silent just to make the vibrating stop and was promptly distracted by Niall. They’d wasted away the rest of the evening doing nothing more than cuddling together on the sofa as _Peaky Blinders_ played on the television, going largely ignored, and sharing lazy kisses until Niall’s stomach growled and reminded them they hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

Reading the description for another position that isn’t really enticing, Claire groans but clicks the link to apply. She moves to the kitchen as the page loads, searches for something to eat since it’s obvious that she’s going to be the only one here for dinner. _Sandwich it is_, she thinks grimly when nothing sounds appealing - she doesn’t feel like cooking tonight since it’s just her, and the leftovers are suspect. She can’t remember exactly when they had Chinese.

“Lucy, we’re home!”

Claire snorts a laugh but doesn’t look away from her task of updating her CV. Niall drops a kiss to the crown of her skull on his way to the fridge. Mully sits in the seat across from her, flicking the casing to her laptop. She sticks her tongue out at him and decides to finish later. Her fingers pick at the crust from her sandwich while she listens to the guys talk about their days.

Evidently, they’d gone to 40 Love and lost track of time; Niall stops speaking abruptly then ducks his head, apologising on a low murmur for leaving her alone for so long. Claire rolls her eyes, pushes at his shoulder. Though he doesn’t seem appeased by her assurance that it’s fine, he does drop the subject.

Mully is the first to go to bed, poking the tip of her nose on his way out of the kitchen, and Claire squeaks and scrunches up her face, nose wiggling. She freezes and slowly turns to see Niall attempting to stifle his laughter.

“Don’t you dare say a word, mister.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He leans in to rest his forehead on her shoulder, turning his head to look at the computer screen. “What are you doing?”

“Hunting for a new job since my last boss decided to be a dick and fire me just so he could be able to kiss me whenever he wanted.”

Niall laughs, shoulders shaking as he struggles to regain control of himself. “Listen, I won’t apologise for that. Kissing you is a pretty big highlight of my days.”

“Aw, so sweet. I quite enjoy it as well, so I suppose it’s worked for the best.”

“Maybe Lou has a need for a PA? Or babysitter when he has Freddie?” He pulls away with his brows furrowed; his gaze goes faraway, vacant, for a second. “Rhi could probably hire you for her bakery.”

“Okay, first off, as much as I adore Freddie, I really don’t want to be a babysitter again. I did that shit in high school, and kids are tiring. Stressful little buggers, really. And second, I can’t just ask either of them to just _give_ me a job.”

“You are utterly impossible.”

Claire just shrugs in response, shifting in her seat so she can finish filling out the application. Neither of them speaks as she types out her name, birthdate, and address - her parents’, of course; anyone who knows how to use the internet probably knows how to reverse-search an address, and using Niall’s doesn’t seem like a good thing to do unless she wants to start a new job being inundated with questions about him. It will happen anyway since their relationship was made as public as Niall will allow, but why add fuel to the fire?

Niall’s voice startles her, the silence of the room shattering unexpectedly as he announces, “There, I asked her for you.”

“Niall! Why -?”

Her phone vibrates across the tabletop, and she glances down at the screen to see a text message notification. With a warning to Niall that this conversation isn’t over, Claire reluctantly picks up the device and unlocks it. Rhiannon’s text contains a link. A new message appears before she

  
**Rhiannon says:** Fill out the application. Yes, I know you, so it’s mostly for legality and appearances, but it’s also because I wanna make you jump through hoops after the shit you pulled. Love youuuu!  
  
**Claire says:** You’re evil. Doctor Doofenshmirtz has nothing on you. I’ll do it in the a.m.   


Still laughing, Claire sends off a dozen heart and kissy-face emojis then sets her phone aside. Niall’s grinning smugly, every bit the cat that ate the canary, when she looks at him. She huffs and hooks a finger in the collar of his shirt, tugs him closer to kiss the smirk off his lips.

“Have I told you that you’re an ass?” she murmurs before kissing him again. “Thanks.”

“I just wanted to do something nice for you after firing you so cruelly for my own selfish reasons. Now, c’mon, it’s late, and you’ve been up since four this morning. Yes, I know you lied to me when I woke up at eight.” He closes her laptop against her protests and pulls her phone away. “No, you don’t need any more social media, let’s go.”

Claire pouts playfully but allows him to guide her to the stairs, his hands firm yet gentle as he propels her forward. Her head swims when his lips cover hers, the walls pressing painfully against her shoulderblades, his body warm and solid in front of her. Her heart pounds under her ribs, blood thrumming with want as she loses herself in the taste and feel of him. He pulls back after a long moment but far too soon.

“Goodnight, love.”

“Ye-yeah, uh, goodnight. Ass,” she calls out softly as he walks away, then she cocks her head to the side and stares unabashedly. “On second, though, keep walkin’. I quite like the view.”

Niall stops in his doorway and smirks back at her over his shoulder, shakes his ass. Claire rolls her eyes. She blows him a kiss then disappears into her room, reluctantly closing the door only after he’s shut himself into his own bedroom.


	28. twenty-eight.

The clock ticks away another minute, numbers bright in the dark of the room as they change steadily. _43... 44... 45..._ Claire sighs and rolls over in the bed. It’s nearing one in the morning, and she can’t sleep. She thought she’d be content enough to drift right off - having a plan for tomorrow, her boyfriend right across the hall, life far better than she ever expected it to be - but something is gnawing away at her soul, preventing her from slipping from consciousness and into a pleasant dreamscape.

After another fifteen minutes of restless tossing and turning, Claire grabs her phone from the nightstand and crosses her room. The house is silent, almost deafeningly so, and a thin strip of light comes from under Mully’s door. She tiptoes to Niall’s door, taps lightly.

The seconds drag on; her stomach churns with nerves, blood roaring in her ears. She’s just given up on the idea when his door opens with a nearly-inaudible squeak. He frowns and scrubs at his eyes.

“Claire? What’s wrong?”

She shrugs, chuckling awkwardly, and chews on her lower lip before deciding to be truthful. “I can’t sleep, and I know I said that us dating doesn’t mean I would jump into your bed, like, immediately, but…”

His laugh is low, quiet, and he steps back so that she can come in. The twisting in her gut intensifies as she follows him to the large bed. She has never once been in this room, never even allowed herself to imagine what it looks like, so to be stood in the middle of the room is mind-boggling.

Niall stares at her through the lamp-light, shadows flickering across his features, and Claire forces her lips up into a tight smile and gingerly climbs onto the bed. He tugs the comforter over the both of them once she’s lying down.

Her head spins with the warmth and unfamiliarity, pinpoints of electricity racing along her flesh as she’s surrounded by the scent that’s purely him. He brushes his fingers over the curve of her cheek, leans forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep, love.”

Somehow, in ways she’ll never be able to explain as long as she lives, being so close to Niall helps ease her to sleep. Claire lets out a shuddering breath and remembers nothing further.

The sun isn’t even up when Claire startles awake only a few hours later. She stares at the ceiling, heart thundering in her chest, and blindly reaches for Niall’s hand. Even in his sleep, he links their fingers together, murmurs under his breath, and Claire lets it soothe her from the fright that has her in its grip. Slowly, her pulse slows, and she loosens her hold on her boyfriend’s hand.

Her mind wanders over what she dreamt about, but nothing comes to the forefront of what could possibly have scared her enough to jerk her out of a deep sleep. Claire rolls onto her side and lets her gaze track over Niall’s face, loose and lax in sleep. His lashes fan over his cheekbones, and his lips, parted as he breathes, move slightly with unspoken words that only he can hear. She sighs heavily, scoots closer to him; he doesn’t move even when she lifts his arm and drapes it over her waist. Sleep doesn’t come again, but being in his arms is good enough for the moment.

“You all right?”

Claire bolts upright in the dining chair and blinks owlishly before turning to Mully. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You’ve been staring at that computer screen for almost half an hour without doing anything.”

“I just didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. But I probably should finish this application, yeah?”

He chuckles and refills her mug from the coffeepot. She waves off his offer of sugar, taking a sip no matter how it scalds her tongue. Setting the cup aside, she forces herself to focus on filling out the form. Thankfully, Rhiannon kept it short and simple: _Name, Number, Address, Promise to not be a dick to me ever?_

All Claire has filled in are the first two boxes. In the last one, she types in a snarky response - she knows this isn’t a legit application, considering it’s little more than a Google Form, and besides, if Rhi wants her to actually fill one out, then she can whenever she gets there.

The call comes late the next morning. Rhiannon doesn’t even say hello, just tells Claire to come in for an interview.

“And don’t try to tell me you’re busy. Your boyfriend already told me you’re rewatching _Finding Nemo_ for the fifteenth time.”

“You two need to stop conspiring against me,” Claire protests on a laugh. “Okay, fine. Lemme get dressed, then I’ll be there.”

“Make sure it’s casual. Jeans and a T-shirt are fine.”

She hangs up before Claire can respond. Claire shakes her head and goes upstairs to her room to change from her Eeyore pyjamas into a pair of dark skinny jeans a My Chemical Romance band shirt. She hurries to brush her teeth, pinning her hair back from her face, and swipes on a few coats of mascara. She darts back into her bedroom to grab socks from the dresser then rushes down the stairs.

Claire ignores Niall’s pouting face on her way to the front hall, pulls on her her favourite boots, and doubles-back to the living room. He tastes of coffee, mint, and him as she kisses the smile off his face. When she pulls back, he’s still grinning, but there’s a dazed look in his eyes. She tells him she will be back whenever Rhiannon lets her leave. He grabs her hand as she goes to walk away, tugging her back toward him. She allows herself a moment to get lost in the kiss, the dizzying headiness of feeling so damn much for him.

“I know traffic wasn’t _that_ bad,” Rhiannon calls out as soon as Claire steps into the bakery almost an hour later, and Claire smiles sheepishly. “Oh, don’t even tell me the details of you doin’ the nasty. Anyway. I hate to tell you, but your references didn’t quite pan out.”

“What?”

“Yeah, your former boss warned me about your sass and attitude, and I’m not sure I can handle someone like that in my shop”

“You’re an ass,” Claire scoffs, rolling her eyes, and Rhi cracks; her laughter rings out over the sound of Mariana’s Trench that plays on the stereo system. “That’s not nice. I even promised not to be a dick to you.”

Rhiannon snorts and digs through a small box under the till. “No, actually, you said ‘I promise not to be a dick if you stop being a whiny little shit.’”

“I still promised.”

“Shut up.”

Rhiannon tosses a small plastic rectangle at Claire. She catches it easily enough, turns it over to see that it’s a nametag. She pins it to her shirt and flashes her friend a cheesy smile. Rhi rolls her eyes, gesturing for Claire to follow her.

“Okay, listen up. This is obviously the kitchen. Please do not move anything out of its place, but if you must, put it right back where it was. It makes it easier to find the things I need when I’m baking. Coffee will be free when you’re on shift, and if you finish a pot, make more.” Rhiannon sighs, staring around the spacious kitchen with her brows furrowed. “The walk-in has all the cold ingredients, the shelves there have all the dry. I won’t always be here, but Sam can do my job almost as well as I can, so he’ll be training you when I’m not here. Any questions?”

“Yeah, why the hell are your hours so weird?”

“Because I am not waking up at four in the morning just to bake. So I open at eleven, close when the bars do. Oh! You’ll never be scheduled for an opening shift if you worked the closing.”

The tour of the bakery goes quickly, and Rhiannon lets her leave an hour later with an order to be back at nine the next morning. Rhi promised to be there and not leave her with Sam, no matter how good he is at his job. Claire slides into the driver’s seat of her car, unlocking her phone as she does. After sending a text to her family informing them of her new job, she lets Niall know she’s on her way back home.

_Home_.

The word rolls over and over in her brain. She isn’t sure how she should feel knowing that she began living with her boyfriend before he even became her boyfriend, and she has no one to ask about it. Dee and Tim dated for a year and got married before they started living together, and she doesn’t really have many friends outside of the ones she’s made through Niall. Sighing, Claire opens the message app and types out a text to someone she hasn’t spoken to in almost three years.

  
**Claire says:** Hey, Warren...   



	29. twenty-nine.

Claire stares down at the text messages, sighing heavily. She locked herself in her bedroom as soon as she got back home; she wasn’t able to look Niall in the eye, so she did what felt like the right thing: She hid from him.

It’s been almost an hour since she sat on her bed, and the passing time has done little to ease the guilt that eats away at her. The relationship with Niall has been far better than she ever expected, definitely more than she deserves, and the evidence is in the exchanges on her phone screen. She can try to justify it as much as she wants, but there’s very rarely any reasonable excuse for texting an ex-boyfriend and reminiscing about the time you had together when you’re dating someone.

Exhaling shakily, she considers deleting the messages. That feels too much like admitting wrongdoing, so she closes out of the thread and pushes to her feet. She leaves her phone on the nightstand, crosses the room, and stops at the door. The device vibrates with an incoming text. A small part of her wants to read what Warren has sent, though the logical part of her brain tells her to go downstairs and pretend she never reached out to him.

“I texted my old boyfriend.”

The words are out before she can stop them, and Niall freezes with the can halfway to his mouth. He blinks a couple of times then sets it down, turns to face her straight-on, though his eyes don’t meet hers. Claire wrings her hands together but sits when he pats the couch next to him.

“Before I react, do you want to explain _why_?”

“I, uh... Okay. It started with not knowing exactly how I feel about the fact that you and I started living together before we started dating. I know he’s been in relationships since we broke up, and I, I wanted his perspective.”

“And?”

“And then we got talking about how it was when we were together.”

Niall breathes out slowly, and her heart could break with the fact that he hasn’t made eye contact once since she sat down. There’s a slight tremble, so slight she just barely notices, in his hand as he cards his fingers through his hair. She swallows thickly, reaches out toward him; she pulls her hand back before she can touch him.

“I - I didn’t want to lie to you,” she whispers, no matter how well she knows the damage has been done. “I just…”

Her words trail off, and he doesn’t speak. Niall turns his head away, and Claire wonders if they can come back from this. It’s only been a couple of days, but she’s already screwed up. She swallows the tears down.

“Niall, do you want me to leave?”

“What? Why would I want that?”

“Because -”

“Because you messaged your ex? Claire, I’m not going to sit here and tell you I’m happy that you, what, reminisced about your relationship, but who doesn’t?” He finally sighs heavily, turns his head to stare at her. “Why didn’t you talk to me about how you felt?”

“I, I don’t know. I didn’t want you to think I had doubts about us.”

“But you did?”

“Hell no,” she breathes out. His hand twitches, but he doesn’t pull away as her fingers lace with his. “I don’t have doubts about us. I _don’t_. I just, I needed reassurance from someone unbiased that it wasn’t such a crazy thing, to be living with someone you have strong feelings for before the relationship even starts.”

“And what did your ex say?”

“He said… he said he’s happy for us, that it wasn’t crazy. He and his fiancee have been living together since a week after they started dating, so he’d have no place to judge even if it was insane.”

“And you, er, you have…?”

Claire stifles her smile; it really isn’t funny. She squeezes Niall’s hand in hers. “No feelings for him whatsoever. It was nice to catch up, because he always was a good guy, but he wasn’t the guy for me.” She draws in a steadying breath, confidence bolstered by the fact he hasn’t stormed off yet. Her grip tightens on his hand. “I really didn’t want to lie to you or act like this hadn’t happened. I mean, it’s only been a couple of days, but… this is the best relationship I’ve ever been in. Even Warren never made me feel like this, and he would’ve been the closest.”

Niall exhales sharply, tugging her toward him. She goes willingly enough; guilt twists at her gut, but she ignores it. She has to believe that Niall wouldn’t be here right now if she’d made an irredeemable mistake. She swallows down the nerves before pulling back just enough to catch his eye.

“I am sorry. There was nothing inappropriate during the conversation I had with him, but I couldn’t hide it from you.”

“I’m not mad, Claire, I promise.” He kisses her forehead. “But next time? Please just talk to me, even if you think I won’t understand. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a stubborn one, and I won’t just walk away if I think there’s still a chance to work things out.”

She nods succinctly then bites her lower lip before asking slowly, hesitatingly, “Does this mean that you’ll still go to my family dinner on Sunday?”

He groans and falls backward onto the couch, his hands coming up to cover his face. Claire giggles, pokes the exposed strip of skin above the waistband of his jeans. He moves more quickly than she expected, his fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist, and she lets him pull her closer.

“Of course I’m coming to your family’s dinner on Sunday, silly girl. We’re dating, aren’t we?”

“Hell yeah, we are.”

The kiss is sloppy, uncoordinated from their smiles, but Claire falls headfirst into the relief and - and love. Remorse still courses through her, reminds her that she nearly lost this relationship before it could even really start. She ignores it as best she can, promising herself that she won’t let something like that happen again.

The guilt abates more and more over the next few days, aided by the fact that nothing between Niall and her seem to change. He leaves to do whatever he needs to do, Claire goes to work at the bakery, and they spend the evenings together. Sometimes they watch television, but other times, they share a bottle of wine and talk for hours. It’s a very pleasant way to pass the time, and she certainly isn’t going to complain about it.

Claire feels much less conflicted about what she did by the time she wakes up early Sunday morning. Her sleep had been incredibly restful, and she is pretty sure it’s only because she slept wrapped up in Niall’s arms through the night. It is only the second time she’s spent the night in his bed, but it’s quickly becoming her favourite place to be. Though, if she’s being honest with herself, she would have to say that being next to Niall has been her favourite place since that night in New York.

After watching Niall sleep for another half-hour, feeling like a creep the entire time, Claire carefully climbs out of bed and tiptoes across the room. Weak sunlight comes in from the windows downstairs; she pads to the kitchen, starts up the coffeemaker.

It’s peaceful, really, to be alone with only her thoughts as she cooks pancakes and scrambled eggs. Claire hums under her breath while she works, disjointed snippets of songs from a variety of genres, body moving with the beat. It isn’t until she feels arms snaking around her waist that she realises she isn’t alone any longer.

“Excuse me, sir, but I’m quite busy at the moment.”

Niall chuckles into the curve of her neck, lips soft when he presses a kiss to the skin. “Yes, and I wasn’t keen on interrupting your lovely dancing.”

“But yet, you did.”

“I did.” He releases her, stepping back as she turns from the stove. “How long have you been up?”

“About an hour or so. Go, sit. Breakfast is ready.”

“You are too good to me.”

“I’ve been saying that for the last year, and you’re just now realising I was right?”

The smile she flashes him takes any sting out of her words; he laughs as he does as ordered, and she carries the serving plates to the table. Once they’re sat beside each other, Claire hooks her foot around the back of his ankle - his body is still sleep-warm, and she refuses to not take advantage of being able to touch him whenever she wants.

“I’ll clean up,” he announces after the food is gone, and Claire doesn’t even bother putting up a token protest. She kisses his cheek then heads upstairs to get ready for the day.

Dinner is usually around four-thirty, or it was when she attended on a regular basis. Since starting the job as Niall’s personal assistant, her presence at her parents’ dining table has been sporadic. Rhiannon promised that the bakery is never open on Sundays anyway, so that’s taken away a lot of the uncertainty regarding whether Claire can make it to dinner or not.

Claire bites her lip, stifling her smile, when she hears Niall singing from the kitchen. Leaning against the frame of her door, she listens as he goes from one Eagles song to the next, the occasional Shawn Mendes thrown in. Something about the way he sings - as if he has not a care in the world, as if it’s the only thing he’ll ever find joy in - never ceases to astound her.

A soft laugh escapes her when his voice cracks on a particularly high note; she turns away from the doorway and heads to the closet. As much as she wants to stand there and revel in her feelings for him, the way he has changed her life, she has something important to get ready for.


	30. thirty.

Claire shivers as she steps out of the shower. Wrapping one towel around her body, she grabs another and twists her hair up in it. She quickly brushes her teeth, grabs her makeup bag from under the sink, and darts down the hall to her bedroom. Niall is downstairs still, she can hear him moving about in the living room, but she doesn’t want to risk him seeing her in this state.

Claire locks the door behind her and pads across the room to her closet. The line of clothing inside nearly overwhelms her. There’s not a lot, really, but she has no idea what she should wear. All she’s certain of is that no matter what she chooses, she’ll pale in comparison to her boyfriend. It doesn’t mean she has no reason to at least _try_ to look presentable.

After a few minutes of staring at the options, she finally decides on a pair of dark-washed jeans, tugging them off the hanger, then focuses on finding a top. This one proves to be a much easier choice: She reaches for her favourite wrap top, smiling at the sight of the tiny skulls; they’re faint enough that they are almost invisible against the burgundy fabric. Claire had worn it five times before she even realised the pattern was even there.

She dresses quickly, tosses the towel into the hamper. With a command for Siri to open Pandora, Claire unzips her makeup bag and pulls out the bottle of foundation and a brush. She has had enough practice with this task that she doesn’t have to pay too much attention to what she’s doing. She’s just finished packing away her makeup when a knock sounds at the door, interrupting Mandy Moore’s voice singing about forever being in her partner’s eyes.

“I’m sure you look wonderful, love, but it’s almost four. We’re going to be late.”

Claire frowns at her reflection in the mirror. Now that she is fully dressed with her hair and makeup done, she’s not so sure about her appearance. The jeans are usually the most flattering for her figure, and the top has always made her torso look slimmer while adding definition to her curves. But right now? She feels like a frumpy pile of soggy, squishy spuds.

She knows Niall is right. It will take at least forty-five minutes to get to her parents’ house, and her mother had confirmed this morning that dinner is planned to start at half-four on the dot. So with one last grimace, Claire fixes a stray hair that’s slipped out of place then unlocks her bedroom door.

Niall looks as amazing as she expected. The shirt he wears fits him well, his blue eyes complemented by the deep grey of the cotton. Claire doesn’t bother trying to stop her gaze from tracking his body, head to socked feet. She ignores the way her heart flutters, the tightening in her belly, and stretches up to kiss him gently.

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

“I’ve been ready,” he grumbles goodnaturedly, lacing their fingers together so he can tug her toward the stairs.

Niall hides his nervousness well on the drive to the Hunter residence. If Claire didn’t know him as well as she does, she would say he’s just as calm, cool, and collected as anybody. But she does, she knows him, so she can see the brittle edge to his grins, the way his hands shake just a little, the relaxed posture he forces himself into.

He does, however, say to hell with pretence, holding her hand tightly as they walk up to the front door. Claire tugs him to a stop on the porch, brushes a piece of lint from the collar of his shirt. When she meets his eye, she can read the apprehension clearly as if it was words on a page.

“They’ll love you, I promise. Just don’t curse too much around the kids. I know, it’s going to be difficult, but Dee might actually duct tape your mouth shut if you say ‘fuck’ more than, like, three times. She has a rule that the kids can’t hear bad words too often, even though she swears almost as much as I do.”

“That might be impossible,” he mutters, and Claire stifles a giggle.

“Yes, I know. I have faith in you, though.” She stretches up to kiss him gently. “Ready?”

He gives a succinct nod, and Claire turns toward the door, knocking once before pushing it open. She calls out for her mother as they step over the threshold, and a screeching noise comes from the kitchen. Deirdre appears at the end of the short hall, her face splitting into a wide smile at the sight of the newcomers.

“You’re late,” she sings as she hugs Claire tightly.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. Where’s Mom?”

“She’s trying to get Dad to stop fiddling with the stupid grill and just borrow the neighbour’s.”

Claire winces - the grill has been a point of contention between her parents for the past few summers. Her father say it works fine, but Melissa says it works fine _when it does_, but more often than not, it’s a hunk of useless metal. With a heavy sigh, she leads Niall into the dining room and leans down to kiss Minnie’s forehead.

“Hi, sweetie, having fun?”

“No.”

“Oh, no! What’s wrong?”

“Daddy won’t let me help Nonnie garden.”

“That’s probably because he doesn’t want your pretty dress to get dirty. Why _is_ she wearing a pretty dress?” Claire asks her sister-in-law, frowning. Deirdre and Tim have never made the children dress up just for family dinner. “Dee, you did not.”

“Yes, I did. Gotta impress your boo. Hi, I’m Deirdre,” she announces with an innocent smile, her hand stretching out towards Niall immediately.

Claire rolls her eyes at the other woman and digs through the cupboard for the box of crayons and sketchbook her parents keep for the kids. She passes them over to a pouting Minnie then makes her way to the kitchen.

Melissa stands by the sink, staring out the window with a dark expression on her face. She doesn’t bother turning to face her daughter as Claire approaches. Resting her cheek against her mother’s upper arm, Claire watches as both Tims argue on the patio. Her brother has evidently taken the stance against Tim Sr, if her dad’s wild gesticulating is any indication.

“I take it it’s Grill-mageddon in the Hunter household again?”

“Right on time.” Melissa sighs and finally turns around. “Where’s Niall?”

“Fuck, I left him with Dee.”

“Are you _nuts_? Belle!”

But Melissa is laughing, so Claire counts it as a win. She follows her mother into the other room, where Niall is busy _ooh_ing over the book that Paul is showing him, alternating his attention between the boy and Minnie who chatters on about her preschool classmates. Claire leans against the wall and watches her mother introduce herself, apologise for any of Deirdre’s behaviour.

Niall catches Claire’s eye, winking quickly enough that she thinks she imagines it, though there is no way that Claire is imagining how charmed her mother is as she speaks to Niall. The sound of the door opening interrupts the conversation, and Claire turns to see her father and brother coming in.

They’re still arguing, though they fall silent at the sight of the newest arrivals. Exchanging a look, both men pretend they weren’t caught in the middle of a heated discussion. Melissa rolls her eyes in Claire’s direction then clears her throat pointedly.

“Tim, TJ, this is Niall, Claire’s boyfriend. You will both be nice, or you won’t be eating tonight.”

“If Dad doesn’t stop being so stubborn about the fucking grill, we won’t be eating anyway,” Tim Jr mutters under his breath, cowering at the look his mother shoots his way. “Sorry, Mom. Final comment of the night.”

“Yeah, that’ll be the day,” Claire snorts, and everyone’s eyes swivel toward her. She isn’t nearly as easy to force into capitulation, though, so she just flashes an impish grin then crosses the room to drop into the chair by Niall.

Thankfully, contrary to her brother’s belief, their father leaves the entire “grill” topic alone, and dinner prep is underway within half an hour. Claire isn’t surprised that her parents were disagreeing at all - they’ve always been open about the fact they don’t always see eye-to-eye - but she has to admit a certain level of dumbstruck that they allowed it to push back the start of the meal. They both like making good impressions, and this is only the third time in her entire dating history that she’s brought home a boyfriend. ‘Good impression’ be damned, evidently.

”Come help me for a sec, Belle. Niall will be fine, I promise. Your dad and brother will be on their best behaviour.”

Claire doesn’t want to leave him alone; Tim always tries too hard to be intimidating, and her father doesn’t even have to try, he just _is_. But she knows she can’t argue at all without causing a scene. So she kisses Niall’s cheek then follows her mother and sister-in-law into the kitchen.

“He’s so sweet!” Dee gushes in a low whisper, and Clair looks for a route of escape. None are to be found. Deirdre is far too intelligent to leave an opening. “Seriously, Belle, he’s so smitten with you. Those pictures of you two on that hike? Ugh, why can’t Tim and I ever be that cute?”

“You have kids,” retorts Claire drily, wincing when Deirdre smacks her arm. “Mom, are you going to let her abuse your favourite daughter like this?”

“Yes, I am. Because she’s right. You and Niall are sickeningly adorable together. I couldn’t help but notice that he watched you every time you moved. Not in a creepy or controlling way, just a… ‘I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to love you’ kind of way.”

“Far too soon for ‘I love you’, Mom.”

Melissa shrugs and finishes gathering up plates and silverware. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t true, sweetheart. It might not be much, but for what it’s worth, Belle? I approve of him. Your dad does, too, he’s just too proud to admit that another man has taken his place in your heart.”

“Dad’s always gonna be my number one,” Claire replies with a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Tim-Tam is second place. Niall is definitely my favourite unrelated guy, though. Now, come _on_, before he thinks we’re talking shit about him.”

Niall seems to fit in easily with the family, laughing at the appropriate times and joining conversation without reservation. Claire can see just how much restraint it takes for Dee to not visibly fawn over the fact that he keeps the kids distracted enough that they don’t protest eating - or that he leans over to cut up Paul’s meat when a chunk seems too large for the toddler to manage. Claire doesn’t blame Deirdre for it, either; if she’s being honest, she’s having a hard time not kissing him senseless for his actions.

The dishes finally done, Claire dries her hands off on the dish towel then passes it over to her mother. As Melissa wipes the water from the countertops, Claire stares out the window over the sink, watches as her father and Niall talk animatedly about something. Most likely football, like the sports nerds they are. Her mom’s chin rests on her shoulder, a mimicry of earlier when the roles were reversed, and Claire huffs out a laugh when her neck starts tickling from the woman’s breath.

“He’s wonderful, Belle.”

“Yeah, he... he really is. I almost fucked it up, though.”

“Already?”

“What can I say? I’m very skilled.”

Her mother pulls away and turns Claire to face her. She can’t hide anything from her mom’s searching gaze, so Claire tells her about texting Warren and their conversation. Thankfully, Melissa doesn’t say anything about it, just tells Claire she did the right thing with being honest.

“And he seems to be handling that bombshell rather well.” Her mother frowns as she looks out at the backyard. “Cue screaming in three, two -”

Her words are cut off by a shrill shriek; Minnie pushes herself to sit up from where she’s fallen, but the damage is done. Melissa snorts then heads outside to intervene. Claire follows, though her feet take her in a different direction. She sits down behind Niall on the lounger, plastering herself against his back. He laughs quietly and grabs her wrists, drags her arms around his waist. His conversation with her father doesn’t stop, and she leans her head against his shoulder and lets the cadence of his speaking lull her further into the bubble of peace that has encircled her over the evening.

_I love you._

She doesn’t realise she’s spoken, said the words aloud, until he falls abruptly silent. Everyone does. Claire freezes and wonders if she can pretend the last thirty seconds never happened. The way Niall is immobile against her tells her no, she can’t. She can’t unsay it.

To her surprise, his hand tightens around hers. Deirdre catches Tim Sr’s attention, rambling about something that Minnie’s class did, but Claire can see the surprised glances that her sister-in-law continues to throw in her direction. She blows out a slow breath before peeling herself off of Niall’s back.

His head turns, and she reluctantly meets his eye. She can’t read the expression on his face; his grip doesn’t lessen, so she hopes nothing is ruined. It’s not even been a week since they started dating - far too soon to be saying the ‘L’ word. But they’ve known each other for almost a year. She’s been around him constantly for so long, it was bound to happen. And now that it’s out there, she certainly doesn’t want to take it back.

Niall moves until he’s facing her, leans forward to kiss her gently. Minnie squeaks out an _Ewww, gross!_, and while the adults laugh, Claire merely pushes closer, lips parting and heart singing. Footsteps cross the patio, the door slides closed, and Claire and Niall are left alone.

“Can I just say,” he murmurs against her lips, “that that was unexpected?”

“Not too soon?” she asks with a slight grin, kisses him again.

His fingers brush along her cheekbone; the feather-light touch sends a shiver down her spine, and he smiles, blue eyes shining in the glow of the citronella torch. “I don’t care if it is.”

Hearing him say “I love you, too” is almost enough to rocket her to the stratosphere. Her mind goes pleasantly numb, body filling with an airy lightness that makes her head spin. She feels drunk, more than any hundred-proof would ever cause, and all she wants to do is dive headfirst into the sensation for the rest of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you can probably see, i've updated the chapter count. yes, this means there are only 3 more chapters before this story comes to a close. i finished writing the final chapter last night, and i'm already so sad about the end (even tho there are 3 more weeks before i reach it, officially). 
> 
> xx


	31. thirty-one.

“Please tell me my dad and brother didn’t say anything embarrassing while I was in the kitchen,” Claire pleads on the drive home.

Niall laughs softly, reaching across the centre console for her hand. “Nah, nothing embarrassing, I promise. All TJ said was that he’s incredibly glad that you’re happy.”

“Well, I guess it coulda been worse.” She sighs and leans back further in her seat. “Although I could have lived without my dad threatening to get the hose.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t a very pleasant moment for me, either.”

“Oh, I know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your face turn that red that quickly.”

Claire is surprised when Niall doesn’t immediately get out of the car once he’s put it in park. She unbuckles and turns to face him, stilling when she sees the expression on his face. The shadows stretch miles between them; he lets out a soft sigh then looks over at her.

“Did… I have to ask, and please be honest, okay?” At her hesitant nod, he dips his chin sharply as if it’s a silent pep talk to himself. “Did you tell me you love me because of your conversation with your ex the other day?”

Her jaw drops, and she rushes to assure him that Warren had nothing to do with it. “I swear, the way I feel about you is not affected in any shape or form by a conversation with my ex-boyfriend. I, I realised I love you shortly after you let me move in. I just… said it out loud tonight. On accident.”

“What?”

“I didn’t mean to say it aloud. I honestly just thought I thought it.”

“Wow.” He chuckles, though there’s no malice in the sound. “Can’t say I’ve ever been part of an accidental declaration of love.”

“If it means anything, I meant it!”

He stares at her through the semi-dark then shakes his head, another huff of laughter escaping. She pushes open the door and steps out of the vehicle; their hands find each other as they make their way up the walk, and Claire’s head spins with the knowledge that he loves her. _He_ loves _her_. She chews on her lower lip, but it does nothing to quell the giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

She toes off her flats just inside the doorway before turning to face him. “Nothing, really. I just never could’ve dreamed that this would be my life.”

“Is it a good thing?”

“The best thing.” Pressing her thumb gently to his chin, she gives him a soft kiss, one that causes her blood to run hot, then steps back. “I’m going to go change. Uh, do you think we have time for a movie tonight?”

“Hmm… we might, if you sleep in my room.”

“As if I’d sleep anywhere else after today. Okay, I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”

Claire rushes through removing her makeup, brushing her teeth, and untwisting her hair from the braid she put it in earlier. Her heart hammers in her chest as she quickly strips and changes into one of her favourite pairs of pyjamas; they aren’t _quite_ as comfortable as her Eeyore ones, but they’re definitely second-best. She can’t think of anything else but Niall as she drops her dirty clothes into the hamper, padding across the hall to Niall’s bedroom.

He is already lounging in his bed, propped up by his pillows as he scrolls through whatever social media he chose to bide his time with. He looks up when she pushes the door closed behind her, and something settles in her gut when he immediately sets his phone aside. She grabs the TV remote from his nightstand before crawling over him. His hands come up to rest on her waist, ostensibly to keep her steady as she clambers her way across the bed, but the touch certainly brings less-than-pure thoughts to her mind.

“Am I the coffee or the doughnut?” he asks once she’s settled in next to him.

She glances down at the design on her tank-top - an anthropomorphic doughnut and to-go coffee cup, with the words _we belong together!_ \- then replies without hesitation, “The doughnut. You’re sweet.”

“Your coffee practically amounts to little more than liquid dessert,” he says with a snort, laughing when she pokes his bicep. “I’m just saying, your coffee is sweeter than a doughnut, so you can’t exactly use the logic of I’m ‘sweet’ to make me the doughnut.”

“Can we just watch a damn movie?” she whines, but it’s cut off by the kiss that lands on her lips.

Thankfully, Niall doesn’t say anything else, merely settles back while she logs into her Amazon Prime account. His brows furrow when the movie begins playing; she curls up against him and waits for the glorious cinematic performance of the incomparable Robin Williams as an android. Knowing he most likely hasn’t seen _Bicentennial Man_, Claire warns Niall that the movie is somewhat of a slow one, but promises it’s worth it.

“What do they say?” Rupert Burns asks on-screen, and Claire drags her gaze away from the television to watch how Niall reacts to the dialogue; this scene has always been her favourite, even when she was a child and understood none of the poignancy or weight. Now that she’s an adult, though, she comprehends far more.

Andrew Martin responds, “That you can lose yourself. Everything. All boundaries. All time. That two bodies can become so mixed up, that you don’t know who’s who or what’s what. And just when the sweet confusion is so intense you think you’re gonna die… you kind of do. Leaving you alone in your separate body, but the one you love is still there. That’s a miracle. You can go to heaven and come back alive. You can go back anytime you want with the one you love.”

“And you want to experience that?”

“Oh, yes, please,” replies Andrew, Claire mouthing along to the actor’s line.

Niall gingerly picks up the remote from where it rests on his thigh, pausing the film, and there’s something in his expressive blue eyes that she can’t read. Even with no words spoken, Claire can tell something has changed, shifted between them. Lines have been smudged out of existence, and if she takes the step forward, there will be no going back. This jump is one-way only.

So she does what every molecule of her being is screaming for her to do: She inches closer to the ledge and - with no parachute to slow her down, nothing tethering her to this moment of solid ground - she lets herself fall into the heavens waiting below.

**[-_-_-_-]**

"Hey, Rhi."

"Morning. Afternoon. Whatever time it is. Oh, can you check and see if we have another box of wax paper slips in the back? This one is almost empty.”

Claire washes her hands and does as asked. There are seven more boxes on the shelf, and she grabs two then makes her way back out to the main part of the bakery. Setting them on the counter, she steps around her friend to grab a pair of disposable gloves. The two women work in silence, transferring pastries from the baking sheets to display trays. Rhiannon stacks the sheets and turns to go back to the kitchen.

“I told Niall I love him.”

“And that’s my cue to stay right here.” Rhiannon puts the baking sheets onto the counter, props a hip against the glass. “Details, woman.”

So Claire tells Rhi about the family dinner, about how charmed her parents were by Niall and even Tim welcoming the other man into the fold. She admits that telling Niall she loves him was an accidental sort of thing, completely unexpected for the both of them, and her recounting is interrupted by Rhiannon’s outbursting of laughter.

“You - you’re telling me that he only knows that you love him because you blurted it out like an awkward fuck?”

“Shut up, it’s not funny!” Claire slides the tray of cookies onto the rack inside the display case. “I could’ve really fucked it all up by saying ‘I love you’ so early.”

“And texting your ex about your current relationship wouldn’t have?” Rhiannon shrugs when Claire shoots her a confused look, sighing and making her way to the coffeemaker. “I kinda overheard Niall talking to Lou the other day. Nialler was afraid that you were trying to find a way of letting him down easily. I mean, he said you two talked about it and that you told him you had no doubts, but… he was still worried.”

Claire takes the cup that Rhi offers, sips at the hot coffee. She’s not entirely sure how she feels about the fact that Niall went to his friend for reassurance, but on the other hand, she can’t exactly be upset - she went to her _ex-boyfriend_ for the exact same reason. So she swallows the knee-jerk reaction of hurt that he doesn’t trust her, swallows down another mouthful of coffee, and gets to work.

Claire represses a sigh and tries her damnedest to keep her ‘customer service’ smile on her face. The group has been stood in front of the display case for the last ten minutes, mumbling amongst themselves in disjointed sentences that seem to make sense to only them. She wouldn’t normally mind having customers, but it’s nearly two-thirty in the morning. Her feet and back are aching, and she’s exhausted.

Finally,_ finally_, the cluster of young adults point lazily to what pastries they want, and Claire doesn’t bother boxing them up, just grabs the treats from the display using the wax paper and passes them over the counter. She almost worries the customers will leave without paying, but to her surprise, one of the girls seems in the right mind enough to drop three twenties on the countertop before shuffling out with her friends, a group of living zombies munching on homemade pastries.

Claire hurries to lock the door behind them and turns off the neon _Open_ sign. She rings up the pastries then gapes at the difference between total cost and change - almost twenty-five dollars. She counts out the bills, dividing them equally into two piles; twelve for Rhiannon, twelve for herself. As she closes out the till, she makes sure there aren’t any mislaid receipts on the counter before pulling the drawer and tucking it under the shelf out of sight.

She’s just finished wiping down the front of the display case when something occurs to her. Claire tucks the cloth into the waistband of her apron and strolls to the kitchen where Rhi is currently putting away the rest of the clean dishware. The other woman raises a brow once she catches sight of Claire in the doorway.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

“Is _that_ why your bakery is called Baked to Perfection?”

Rhiannon laughs and wipes her hands on a dishtowel. “What can I say, we’re the Taco Bell of bakeries. You got the munchies, we got the cure.” She hesitates, her gaze darting to Claire’s face. “Have you seriously never encountered our… green clientele?”

“If I have, I’ve never noticed, I guess.” Claire shrugs awkwardly, and Rhiannon laughs even harder than before.

“Wow, you are incredibly unobservant.”

Claire can feel the heat in her face, burning red in her cheeks and screaming her embarrassment. “Oh, fuck off.”

Rhiannon’s giggles follow her out into the main lobby, and Claire can’t help but chuckle, too. The hours make sense now. And if she thinks about it, she can recall a few obviously-not-sober customers over the last week, especially in the late hours of the night. Claire shakes her head at herself, shouting _Stop laughing at me, asshole!_ over her shoulder as she goes back to her closing duties.


	32. thirty-two.

The flickering light from the television washes over Niall’s face, muted colours painting his skin different shades as he sleeps on. Claire huffs out a laugh and doubles back to make sure the front door is locked, security alarm set. She hadn’t expected him stay awake until she got home, but she also couldn’t have anticipated him having fallen asleep on the couch.

“Babe? C’mon, it’s almost three. Let’s go to bed.”

“Don’ wanna move,” he mumbles, face scrunching up, and Claire stifles a giggle.

“Okay, fine. If you wanna stay here and make me sleep in that big bed all by myself, that’s your choice.” She ducks down to press a kiss to the curve of his brow, smiles when his eyes peel open slowly. “I’m just saying. You could stay here on the sofa, or be much more comfortable in our bed with me.”

Her words act as a catalyst - he grumbles further, but he pushes himself to his feet and stumble after her toward the stairs. She links their fingers together as they go; it’s been a long day, but coming home to this… it definitely makes up for everything.

Niall flops down onto the bed the instant he’s able, and Claire has no doubts that he’ll be back asleep before she gets out of the shower. She almost considers going straight to bed, but she’s been having some weird dreams lately, all revolving around baked goods. So it’s wise to clean up before falling asleep.

Showered and no longer smelling like pastries, Claire runs a brush through her hair and scrubs her teeth before making her way back to Niall’s room. He doesn’t stir when she crawls beneath the blankets, and she stares at him for a moment.

He looks so peaceful, calm and relaxed in ways she’s not seen in a while. Her heart beats steadily beneath her ribs, sings of her love. She stretches just enough to press a kiss to his forehead then settles in next to him, closing her eyes and exhaling the stresses of the day.

**[-_-_-_-]**

Claire hefts the tote bag further onto her shoulder, loops a finger through the straps of her flip-flops, and takes careful steps across the hot sand until she reaches the large umbrella that her family sits under. Tim sees her approaching, tosses the tube of sunblock her direction, and Claire sticks her tongue out at him when it bounces off her fingertips to land on the ground.

“Can we not be a jerk for once?” she grumbles as she drops to the ground, though a smile plays at the edges of her lips. “I mean, I could have spent time at home with my boyfriend, but no! I show up to hang out with you lot, and I get sunscreen thrown at me.”

“Shut up, Belle. You coulda said no.”

“Nah, I’ve missed hanging out with you, terrible brother of mine. It’s been a while since we’ve done this.”

Tim laughs and shoves playfully at her shoulder. Claire finishes smearing the sunblock on her skin then reaches for Paul; he lunges toward her, and she buries her face into his soft hair. Her brother passes over a popsicle with a wide smile.

Claire gets exactly one lick of it before her nephew is tugging it from her hands. He waddles away with it clutched tightly in his fist. She stares after him, jaw dropped, before catching Tim’s eye.

“What the actual fuck are you teaching your child, Timothy?”

“Methinks you should watch your language around the children.”

Claire twitches in surprise then glares up at her sister-in-law. Deirdre settles onto the towel beside her, grinning unabashedly. Claire shakes her head and watches Paul stomping in the sand.

His hand is already stained red from the frozen treat, sticky sugar tinting his lips. Minnie growls when her brother gets too close to the sandcastle she’s building, but he doesn’t seem to notice - or care. He finally plops down at the edge of Minnie’s work area, his fingers squishing sand and letting it loose.

“Speaking of boyfriends,” Tim says, and Claire turns her head to catch his eye, “how’s all that going?”

“It’s been... really great. Better than I could have hoped for, especially so early in it, y’know?”

Tim shrugs and unwraps another popsicle. “I mean, you two were dancing around each other for months, right?”

“I mean, I was. I’m not sure about him, but yeah, I was head over heels long ago.”

“Done the dirty yet?” Dee asks, cackling as Claire’s face heats up in a way unrelated to the sunshine or temperature.

Minnie cocks her head to the side, her hands still in the process of scooping away sand for a moat. Her bright eyes are narrowed as she asks so innocently, “What’s the dirty?”

Deirdre’s jaw drops open as she stares at her daughter, and Claire loses it. She laughs until she can’t breathe, then laughs some more when Dee stammers out a suggestion that Minnie never, ever repeat that sentence.

Claire clambers awkwardly to her feet, stumbles away from the shade of the umbrella. Her stomach and chest ache, and her eyes start watering as she struggles to catch her breath.

“Get back here, Belle, I’m not done asking questions!”

Claire ignores Dee’s order, wading out into the expanse of water until it reaches her waist, and waggles her fingers in her family’s direction. She inhales as best as she is able then disappears beneath the surface.

Being buffeted by the water as it encroaches upon the shore is familiar; she relaxes her body until she can float with the push and pull of the waves. Her hair brushes against her cheeks, thick and heavy on her skin, but she focuses on the easy peace that fills her bones.

She doesn’t care how far from shore she gets, as long as she never loses this freeing helplessness.

“You’re kidding.”

Tim rolls his eyes, closing the car door. “Look, you took your boyfriend, so why can’t I take my wife and children?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. And besides, in my defence, he wanted lunch, and I didn’t want to take him somewhere he’d get swarmed.” She sighs, reaches out for her brother to hug him tightly. “I think it’s great that you wanna take them. I’ll meet you guys there.”

Claire somehow manages to reach Ma’s before her brother does, so she sits behind the steering wheel and composes a new message to Niall, quickly attaching the photo she took of herself and Minnie on the beach. He’s busy, though, and she doesn’t expect an answer - she just hopes their bright smiles can make his day a little bit better.

The phone tumbles from her hands when she jumps, shrieking, at the unexpected tapping on her window. She glares at her older brother even as she shuts off the engine, pushes open the door.

“I thought we agreed not to be jerks? You totally could’ve just texted me that you were here.”

“And miss seeing you nearly piss yourself? Where would the fun be in that?”

Claire grabs her phone from off the floorboard and shoves her brother out of her way - or tries to, anyway. He’s larger than she is, so she isn’t very successful. She scoops Minnie up in to her arms and spins in a circle, heart singing with the child’s screech of delight.

Deirdre warns that Minnie doesn’t have a change of clothes if she pukes everywhere, and Claire pouts but stops twirling around. Hefting her niece more securely against her side, Claire follows the others into the diner.

Edna’s eyes scan over the group, and Claire’s brows furrow when the other woman’s face falls. She realises after a moment that Edna was most likely looking for Niall to be among them. Claire shrugs apologetically, trailing after Tim as he leads them to the booth.

Once Minnie is sat on the bench next to her, Claire checks her phone for any missed notifications. There aren’t any. She makes sure her family is fully engrossed in talking with Edna before typing out a quick _I just wanted to let you know I love you_. Claire sends it off then sets her phone face-down on the tabletop, joins the conversation.

Lunch passes by far too quickly for her liking; even with Edna trying to force food onto the family, Claire finishes her meal within the half-hour. She checks the time and sighs. Dee catches her eye, cocking her head to the side.

“I better go. Told Rhi I’d come in this afternoon if she needs me.”

“Aw, I was gonna see if you wanted to come hang out at the house for the evening since your boyfriend is working.”

“If my presence isn’t required, I will be there with bells on.” Claire presses a kiss to Minnie’s forehead, stretches across the table to kiss Paul on the cheek, and hugs Tim. “Call me later, yeah? Love you.”

As soon as she’s back in the driver’s seat of her car, she brings up the group chat with Rhiannon and Sam.

  
**Claire says:**  
Need help?  
  
Sam  
**Sam says:**  
Not really, no. Not super busy rn  
  
**Claire says:**  
  
  
Sam  
**Sam says:**  
  
  
**Claire says:**  
  
  
Sam  
**Sam says:**  
Wow... You went there...  
**Sam says:**  
Come in if you want. I'd appreciate it. Then I can focus on catching up on the baking. Too many families want pastries today  
  
**Claire says:**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter of this story, and i can't tell you how sad i am to see it wrapping up. but alas, all good things must come to an end, i suppose. anyway. see you next week! <strike>or tomorrow, if i get impatient because i am the worst at keeping to a schedule</strike>


	33. thirty-three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all for sticking around for this story, silly though it may have been. it's a pleasure to have written this for you, and i can't tell you how much i appreciate you giving it a chance in the first place. never fear - there will be more stories coming! 
> 
> now, onto the final chapter of claire and niall's story.

Nobody spares her a second glance as they bustle around, but Claire expected this. She stumbles to a stop when a tech bolts across her path, frowning when he doesn’t even bother saying sorry. Shaking her head, she continues through the corridors, occasionally looking down at the text message, until she catches a glimpse of Paul stood in the doorway of a room just ahead.

She tiptoes closer and taps him gently on the shoulder. He turns, grinning widely when he sees her, and Claire lets herself get swept up into his exuberant embrace. Her spine pops once, twice, then he’s setting her back on her feet.

“He’s already out there.”

“Good.” She pauses, raises a brow. “And this is -?”

“Still a secret, yeah. C’mon.”

Claire’s heart starts racing the deeper they get into the building. Paul ducks down yet another hallway; she scrambles to keep up, his strides much longer than hers.

Thankfully, it isn’t much longer before he gestures to a seat in the front row, off to the side a bit, and she hugs Paul tightly again then sits. The girl next to Claire stares at her without shame.

“I’m not the star, sweets.”

Claire’s words seem to jolt the girl back to reality, and she stammers out an apology and faces the stage. Her gaze keeps cutting to Claire, though, as if she can’t believe that Claire is _here_. Neither can Claire, to be honest.

The last two months have been spent practically on her own. Niall finished recording his album and immediately set off on a promo circuit. They have had to keep their relationship alive via FaceTime chats and text messages.

It was Rhiannon’s idea, said mostly in jest last week, but Claire certainly ran with it. Four days of back-and-forth with Paul, who did most of the work to get this organised, and now Claire is sat in the audience for Niall’s last promotional performance before his tour.

Claire shrinks back in her seat as Niall takes the stage. It would be just her luck that he sees her before he even starts singing, and that would just ruin the surprise. Well, half of it.

Even Paul - Hell, even _Mully_ \- has no clue about the full details of the other half. All they know is that Niall’s schedule is cleared of anything and it’s all Claire’s fault.

“Nice to meet ya, what’s your name?” Claire sings along under her breath, as everyone around her dances in their seats.

This isn’t her favourite song off the album, not by a long shot. It still makes her smile, makes her want to be the girl he sings about - even though she has something much better.

She has his heart and his attention, and nothing can ever compare to the feeling she gets whenever he’s around. Even after almost sixteen months of him being in her life, Claire never fails to get that “knees shaking, heart racing, palms sweating, drowning with love” kind of feeling.

Niall sees her just before the song ends. He has been smiling the entire time, but Claire sees how it brightens even more, spreads fully across his face. She blows a kiss in his direction just to watch his cheeks flush brilliant pink.

Someone whistles sharply to her right, and she bustles out of her seat and through the door. Paul’s lips twitch when she jumps onto his back, but he doesn’t drop her on her ass. He just holds her more securely then carries her piggyback to the green room.

“You came!”

Claire lets Niall hold her close even though he’s sweaty and hot. “I did. Surprised?”

“Beyond surprised. Wait, is this why I was being rushed out to the stage?”

“Yeah, we didn’t want you to see I was here quite yet.” Claire pokes his nose, kisses him softly. “You did amazing, darling.”

Niall’s cheeks flush again, and Claire steps back so he can do what he needs to do. It doesn’t take long at all for him to change out of his suit into something more appropriate for the streets. He still looks fantastic, and she can’t help but find it unfair that he always looks like he’s stepping straight from a magazine. He slings an arm over her shoulder, steering her from the room, and the others follow.

“Question for you, my love. What are your plans for the next week?”

Niall’s brows furrow as he stares down at her; it requires all of her willpower to not word-vomit her plans, but then he’s blowing out a breath, his expression smoothing out.

“None. This was the last thing until tour.”

“Good. Let’s get going.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the confusion on his face is more than evident. Claire wonders how long it will be until he asks for more information. To her surprise, they make it all the way to his hotel room without any questions.

His blue eyes scan over the room - everything is neatly packed away, his bags stacked by the wall. She had stopped by after landing to wait for Paul’s text that it was okay to come to the studio, and though the room wasn’t exactly a _mess_, she had taken it upon herself to get everything put in his suitcase, not a thing left out except an outfit for him to wear tomorrow.

“What’s the rush?” he asks with a quiet laugh, stumbling slightly when Claire pushes them further into the room.

“No rush, really. I just… want to spend as much time with you as possible without having to worry about something as trivial as packing.”

Niall seems to catch the meaning of her words, because he ducks down to kiss her, hard and demanding and leaving her breathless. Her head spins as he steps away to put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. The locks click into place with finality.

****

___x___

“Fucking hell, I hated being away from you,” he whispers into the semi-darkness of the room, and Claire presses closer, fingers trailing light circles along his clavicle.

“I hated it, too. Which is why I arranged it with everyone that, for the next week, we are not to be bothered unless it’s an actual emergency. No superstar things, no family, no friends, no social media or paparazzi or anything. Just us. We’re leaving first thing in the morning. And don’t worry, your passport is already packed.”

“Yeah? Where we goin’, then?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

His bafflement is far too amusing, and Claire giggles as he pouts. They fall quiet then, just enjoying being in each other’s presence. It’s rather mind-boggling that it’s been just over four months since she let it slip that she loves him, and they have been the most amazing four months. Even when they aren’t physically together, she has yet to have a day go by where she isn’t happier than she ever dreamt of being.

He drifts off to sleep within minutes, but Claire can’t. She’s too excited. Between working every day and not getting much time with him, her life became one monotonous blur over the last few months. But now that she’s here with him again, she feels like she can breathe easily. And the idea of spending seven interruption-free, “no responsibilities except for using condoms” days to focus solely on him, remind him of how much she loves him…

Well, Claire can’t wait until the plane touches down in Papeete so they can while away the hours under the hot sun and heat of Bora Bora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**fin.**_  
(trust me, i'm as sad about this as you are)


End file.
